


Mirror

by usedupshiver



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Lies, M/M, Marking, Murder, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Physical Disability, Protective Bucky Barnes, Teenage Tony Stark, Torture, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: Tony Stark's soulmate, his Mirror, somehow manages to make him lose an arm long before he is even born. Then the soulmates meet, and it nearly costs Tony his life.Things can really only go up from here.





	1. 1970–1985

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar, it's because it is. This fic used to be "Mirror, mirror" and was taken down to see some rewriting. I hope this version will be more satisfying...

Most people thought Howard Stark didn't want a child, but the truth was that he did. Very much. Maybe even _too_ much. He was getting old – even though at 53 he wasn't quite ready to admit that – and he needed someone who would be ready to take over after him, when the time inevitably came.

Howard had high hopes when Maria finally got pregnant. High hopes, and even higher expectations.

On the 29th of May, 1970, his son was finally born, but the hushed voices and lowered gazes told him that something was wrong before he even saw the boy. When they let him into the room and finally showed him the pink, wrinkly bundle with its dark, unfocused eyes and impressively thick shock of black hair, he instantly knew why.

The boy only had one arm.

His left one was a chubby, perfectly formed thing curled up to his chest, his tiny, baby-dimpled fist by his chin. But his right... There was the curve of a little shoulder joint, but below that there was barely a couple of inches of arm before the limb ended in nothing. As if it had been cut clean off. Except there was no scar, no wound, no mark at all. Just the missing part of the boy's body.

Howard gave the child one long look, turned, and left. Without a word.

All his hopes and expectations were shattered.

Maria named the boy Anthony Edward. A much too grand name for a broken thing, if you'd asked Howard. 

They tried to have more children, but Maria never conceived again. In his heart, Howard's shattered hopes and dreams were ground to dust. All he had was a broken son, a dying marriage, and scotch. A lot of scotch.

After Howard turned his back on his son, both literally and figuratively, Maria also distanced herself from the child that had ruined her marriage. She blamed herself more than the boy, perhaps, but the result was still that she could barely stand to be around Anthony.

A nanny cared for him for the first few years, but after that both the care of the boy, and the responsibility for raising him, fell to Edwin Jarvis, the Stark family butler. Even though he had some help from Peggy Carter, who was a friend of both the family and the butler. She was a busy woman with a busy life, but any time she came to the mansion, she brought her own brand of colour and light into little Tony's life.

Edwin was the one who was there every day and every night, however. Which meant he was the one to notice that there were more things different with the child than the missing limb.

If anyone had thought that being short an arm would keep little Tony Stark down, they would have been sorely mistaken. He was curious and inquisitive and stubborn and reckless, a combination that meant he was everywhere as soon as he started walking, sticking his tiny button of a nose into anything he found, sneaking and climbing and exploring. And falling down and getting cuts and scrapes and bruises along the way.

Cuts and scrapes and bruises that always healed within minutes.

Edwin never told anyone about that. Who would he tell, anyway? No-one but him had any real, day-to-day interest in the boy, after all.

So he just wiped the blood off the boy's dimpled knees, the drying tears off his round cheeks, and sent him on his way with a plea to be more careful next time. Most often he got a sweet smile and a tight hug and then the boy was off again, usually as reckless as before.

Tony was also brilliant. This became clear from a very early age, and soon it was impossible to keep the child away from his father's workshop whenever the man was too drunk, or too busy with Stark Industries, to do any hands-on work.

He was four when he built his first robot. It was a rudimentary arm with an impressively dexterous hand with three fingers, the whole construction small enough to stand on a worktable on Tony's right side while he tinkered away. The robot obeyed a growing number of commands the boy issued with the help of four buttons in different colours on the base of the thing, helping him hold and lift and turn and move things as needed, when his one flesh and blood arm wasn't enough for what he needed to do.

Working in the 'shop meant that Tony gave himself more cuts. And burns, too. He no longer cried or ran to Jarvis when that happened, though. He knew if he just gritted his teeth for a minute or two, the pain would go away, he would heal, and he could work on. And so that's what he did.

Years passed by, Tony grew, his genius became even more apparent, and the construction of that first robot had been replaced and then rebuilt many times over – although the programming stayed the same, evolving. The buttons disappeared, and now the thing understood what it was told to do. It still learned, and it still had the same name Tony had given his first little creation – Dummy. The robot was both the boy's extra hand and arm, and his friend. His only friend, really, if you didn't count the old butler. Tony was homeschooled and met no other children while growing up, hidden from the world by parents who were ashamed of him and wished everyone would forget Anthony had ever even been born. His metal friend was the one who listened and helped him, no matter what. Jarvis still had his work to do, as did his teachers, but Dummy had no-one but Tony.

At 13, Tony was a shorter-than-average, skinny teenager who had reached the limit of what his teacher could challenge him with years ago. He secretly applied for MIT. And was accepted. He had to ask his father's permission to leave Manhattan and go to college, and all he got was a glare and a shrug.

”At least _try_ not to make a fool of yourself”, was Howard's parting words.

Maria offered a bland smile and a hand stroking though his hair, before she left Jarvis to do the packing.

When Tony arrived at campus, he found out that he had been sent there under a pseudonym, to protect the family name. He didn't even care. Dummy was there to help, Jarvis had packed him all his favourite clothes and a box of cinnamon cookies. Tony was more than happy with his new life. Especially after he met his roommate, a tall, lanky, dark-skinned kid who had these incredible, wide, carefree smiles the likes of which Tony had never seen. Who laughed at Tony's dorky jokes and actually seemed to think that Tony was kind of amazing. James Rhodes and Tony became best friends there and then.

Rhodey was also the first person to ever really talk about his arm. The missing right one, that is. Not the left one that was very much there. He asked Tony all sorts of curious questions, which didn't bother him at all. Even though he knew by now that the missing arm was the reason he was such a pariah in his home, Tony himself had never really felt bothered by the way he'd been born. It was just the way it was.

He'd learned to do anything practical he needed, and with the help of Dummy he'd managed to do much more. Tony had never had a prosthesis, and he didn't now either. All his shirts and sweatshirts and cardigans and jackets had the right sleeve cropped off so it fit right under his little shoulder stump. He was more comfortable like that, and couldn't care less about strangers staring. It didn't last long anyway – fellow students and his teachers soon got used to him and lost interest. No-one but Rhodey asked anything.

And Rhodey was the one to point out something Tony had never considered - because he had never known about it.

”At least you'll know your mirror when you see them, right?” Rhodey was stretched out on his front on his bed, nose buried in a book, and didn't even look up when he made this statement. Since he didn't, he didn't see Tony's completely bewildered look.

”Huh?”

The noise at last made Rhodey glance up, and then he did a double-take at the expression on Tony's face. ”What?”

”My... mirror?”

Now it was Rhodey's turn to look confused. ”Yeah? You know? Your soulmate?”

”My what?”

Rhodey was clearly stunned. It was the first time he'd ever had to explain anything at all to Tony, and by the way he spoke Tony knew this was something he'd never had to explain to anyone, and that it was something everyone knew and took for granted. As if he'd had to sit Tony down and tell him about the fact that the sky was blue, since he had somehow failed to notice that the sky even _existed_.

Because apparently, soulmates were an actual, real, scientifically proven fact. A thing that happened to about 96% of the population, at that. Or rather, it happened to 100%, but in some cases the two never met.

They were often called Mirrors, because their bodies mirrored each other – any significant physical changes that happened to the first-born mate would later happen to the other, only flipped, like in a mirror.

”So your mate won't have a left arm”, Rhodey explained. ”Should make them easy to spot, right?”

Tony nodded, mute, for once lost for any kind of words. How had no-one told him this before? Of course, there was really no reason while he was locked up in the mansion, where he never met anyone, least of all anyone else with only one arm. But still?!

The way Rhodey told it, Mirrors tended to find each other early in life, usually before or around puberty. (Rhodey himself was actually unusually late, since he hadn't found his mate at 18.) Because they were meant to protect each other, have each other's backs.

”It's not like you're destined to love and marry them or anything”, Rhodey continued. ”But apparently the bond tends to trigger a lot of... affection, I guess is a good word? And loyalty. Above all. They're part of you, so you're invested, on a basic level that you can't control. Hormones, maybe?” He shrugged. ”Yeah, they don't really know how it works yet.”

Again, Tony nodded. Then he left the dormroom and went to the library. He didn't come up for air until he knew everything there was to know about soulmates. Which was a lot, although he was also pretty sure a lot of it was bullshit.

Apparently there had been many theories over the centuries. Both about how the Mirroring worked, and how the mates were meant to interact. At one point, the first-born of the pair had been called the Alpha, and considered the superior, dominant part. While the second-born, the Omega, would be the weaker, submissive one.

Given the fact that Tony had been born with a limb missing, and no medical reason for it had been found, it wasn't that difficult to figure out that he was the second-born. That somewhere out there his mate, his first-born, his Alpha, or what-the-fuck-ever, had already managed to live long and hard enough to lose them an arm each. Making Tony the supposedly frail and helpless Omega.

Tony was calling bullshit. And it seemed a lot of later research proved him right. The current theory was that the second-born was the real line of defense, for them both. Since any serious damage to the Alpha would also affect the Omega, guess who was better suited to offer protection?

Pushing the stack of books to the side, Tony leaned back in the chair and rubbed his one, left hand over his right shoulder, the stump that remained of his right arm, and wondered what his mate had really been up to before he had been born. Whatever it was, he supposed his poor Alpha would need him to keep them safe. Obviously, they weren't doing such a great job on their own.

Which got him thinking about the future.

One night when he should be studying, he instead sat there staring at his fingers stroking the paper of his textbook. Tony frowned at them, thoughtful. ”Rhodey?”

”Hmm?”

”If my Mirror had lost the arm _now_ , what would have happened?” He hadn't found any really specific information about that.

”Well...” Rhodes looked up from where he was sitting on the floor beside their couch, notes and books spread out all around and between his legs. ”It's not an instant kind of thing. At first, you'd start to go numb, from the fingers up, and then lose more and more control of your hand and arm. And once it was all numb and limp, you'd wake up one day and it would just be, well, not attached to you anymore.”

Tony's nose scrunched up. ”What? Lying by itself, beside me in the bed?”

Rhodey shook his head. ”No, just _gone_. Not there. At all.” He shrugged. ”A friend of my mom lost her leg from the knee down that way, after her Mirror was in a car crash. Had some pretty nasty scarring on her thigh, too, where the damage was deep enough that it showed through the bond.”

There was no exact science to how serious an injury had to be to leave a lasting mark on both mates. It was a bit different for everyone, it seemed. But generally a significant amount of tissue had to be destroyed or removed. After the bond was triggered, which happened the first time the mates touched, it took less. And then, even non-permanent injuries would sometimes how up on both Mirrors, like cuts or bruises showing up and then disappearing again.

The cellular connection between Mirrors could pass on other things, too. Most kinds of illness and desease weren't shared, but they had found that many forms of cancer often was.

And then, there were the Mirror Marks – and science was largely at a loss about those. Because all it took was for the second-born to bite the first-born, hard enough to draw blood, and it would leave a permanent, red scar on them both. It was something reserved for Mirrors who intended to share an intimate closeness, for the rest of their lives, and never take another lover or life-partner. Ultimate commitment.

Tony ran his fingernail along a line of text without reading it, and couldn't look at Rhodey when he asked his next question. ”What happens to them, if I die?”

”Nothing, really. You haven't triggered the bond, so their life would just go on and they would never know. Except that you'd never meet, obviously.”

”And if they die? ” Tony swallowed, pretty sure he already knew and didn't like it. ”My Mirror?”

For a few moments, there was silence. He could feel Rhodes look at him, but kept his eyes on his finger, tracing a W on the off-white paper.

”Then you'd die, too”, his friend said, quietly.

And even though he had sort of known, it twisted up his gut a bit. Tony just hoped that somewhere out there, his Mirror was safe enough that he would be allowed to find them, some day.

* * *

Tony could never remember the crash after it happened. Actually, most of December 17 1984 was gone forever, even if he later pieced together that he and his parents had been on their way home from some early Christmas party. They had given up on keeping him a secret one semester into his college studies, when the press had sniffed out the truth of his identity.

The first thing he remembered was waking up again, still strapped in his seatbelt in the back of the car, the vehicle tilted sharply to the right so his side was pressed against the door. His head hurt so much it made him feel sick, his ribs sore from the seatbelt holding him in place in the moment of impact, but other than that he seemed all right. Before he could figure out what had actually happened in the span of time that was now a black void, the other back door of the car was janked open. Ripped entirely free of the car, even, tossed away like a scrap of paper.

Shivering, nauseus, Tony could just try to focus his spinning vision on the dark shape of a man pushing into the backseat of the car, reaching for him. At first he thought it was a cop, he was being saved, thank fuck, but then... Then he knew that wasn't it. At all.

The man was all wild, tangled hair, much too long to belong to a cop. The black clothes struck Tony as vaguely military-looking, but there was no hint of any official markings. Half his face was covered by some sort of black mask, the gray eyes above it both sharply intent and as wild as his hair, at the same time. 

A hand tore the seatbelt, before hard fingers twisted into the front of Tony's jacket, and pulled him out of his seat.

Feeling sick, confused, and increasingly terrified, Tony tried to struggle, turn away, wriggle free. He was angling his head away from the man, reaching for something to grab hold of, when his eyes fell on the front seat of the car. 

Maria was in the passenger seat, body slumped forward. Her hair still looked almost perfect, but her head was twisted so far around she was facing Tony over her own shoulder. Bloodied mouth slack, her eyes dark with blown pupils, staring without seeing anything at all.

Howard's head was resting sideways against the wheel, face partilly crushed, skin and muscle torn away to show white bone. His skull was caved in, hair so matted with blood that the silver colour had turned bright red.

Tony stopped struggling then, body going slack. Distantly he felt warm liquid trickle down his leg when he peed himself. Then he was out of the car, slammed up against the side of it where it leaned off the shoulder of the road, front rammed into a tree. His head throbbed even worse at the movement, and then strong fingers closed around his jaw, pushed his head back so the man could see his face clearly, and then the world lurched in a way that had nothing to do with his likely concussion. And everything to do with the warm skin pressed against his face.

In front of him, the man's gray eyes flew wide, he blinked rapidly, and then the rolling, wild stare was suddenly replaced with a more focused gaze. It was still a flitting mix between confusion and excitement and something like determination, but there was a solidity behind it now, something deeper and more heartfelt than the cold, mindless intent he had displayed before.

Then the man's knees buckled and he fell, dragging Tony helplessly with him down onto the snow-covered road. He blinked again, taking in the scene around them with obvious shock, while his arms moved, almost absently, to wrap around Tony's body.

That was when Tony noticed how the man's jacket didn't cover his left arm. It was all made out of interlocking plates of moving metal, polished to a shine, something red painted on his shoulder. Realization hit him like a punch in the gut, and Tony heard himself make a strangled little whimpering noise in the back of his throat.

Steel-gray eyes came back to Tony's face at the sound, and for what felt like a very long time they just sat there, in frost and ice and snow, staring at each other.

”They're dead”, Tony finally murmured, starting to shiver. ”Aren't they?” He already knew the answer – it just didn't feel real.

The man nodded, still silent behind the muzzle-like mask, his eyes suddenly liquid and flashing with guilt and horror and bewildered pain. Like he knew he was to blame, but he had no idea _why_.

With another whimper, Tony folded in on himself, slumping forward against the wide, solid chest that was all heavy fabric and buckles and leather straps. His one hand, bare and slowly going numb in the icy wind, turned to a fist clutching at the man's ribs while Tony dissolved into hitching, hiccuping, convulsing sobs. Barely aware that the heavy arms around him tightened their grip, hauling him up into the man's lap, off the cold road, tucking his aching head in under that still masked chin.

Tony wasn't sure if it was grief that made him cry. Probably not. It was too fresh for that. Most of all, it was shock. The physical shock of the crash and his concussion and bruised ribs, the sight of his dead parents, and then finding himself face to face with the man who Tony was pretty sure had made them crash to begin with. His soulmate.

The grief would come in time. Not because he had really loved his parents – hell, he'd barely _known_ them – but they were still the very foundation of his existense.

It was all too much. Far too much for a boy of fourteen-and-a-half to handle.

Just when his heartwrenching sobs had eased up enough that he could breathe again, Tony felt the man go tense. Rubbing his wet face against the chest he was still pressed against, Tony gathered himself enough that he could look up. But now the man was looking away, staring down the road.

And in the blink of an eye he had them both back on their feet, Tony wobbly and woozy enough that the man had to lean him against the car again. Gently, this time. The shiny metal hand closed around his stump of a right shoulder joint, squeezed for a moment, the bright eyes burning a promise into Tony's heart. Before he let go, turned, stalked across the road, and was gone. Swallowed up by the shadows and trees.

Tony barely had time to be surprised by the abrupt departure before he saw the headlights of a car approaching, and he knew why he had been left on his own.

In moments the car had rolled to a stop by the road, a young couple who were all worried eyes and fluttering hands finding Tony by the wreckage, and the bodies of his parents, and then he was swept up in the inevitable drama of panicked phonecalls and wailing sirens and the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances. Hospital rushes and the smell of desinfectant and Jarvis looking so rumpled and red-eyed that Tony barely recognized the always so put-together butler when he came to pick Tony up at the emergency room after they discharged the boy. Mild concussion and bruises, they said. The seatbelt had no doubt saved his life.

Tony told no-one that the seatbelt would have been worth jack shit in the end, if things had played out just slightly different. He never mentioned the man with the metal arm.

* * *

The Stark mansion was an empty, echoing shell when Tony came back home.

In reality things hadn't changed that much, Tony knew. His father had always been locked away in his workshop or office when he had been home, and his mother secluded in her private suite, the faint melody of her playing the piano sometimes drifting through the hallway outside. But now he knew that even if he went looking for them, they wouldn't be there. Somehow, that changed everything.

Jarvis made him food he could barely get down three mouthfuls of, and then he went to bed. And cried again, hidden from the world under his duvet.

The next day Obie, his father's old business partner, showed up. He ruffled Tony's hair, talked a lot about business-related things that just made Tony's head spin, and left again with a smile and a ”hang in there, kid”. 

On the second day a stranger came to visit, and it turned out he was the family lawyer. Telling Tony everything his father had owned was now his. Including Stark Industries, which would properly pass onto him when he turned 18, although the company would primarily be run by Obadiah Stane until Tony turned 21. There was a whole list of things to consider for the funeral as well, but Tony just nodded along. Whatever wishes his parents had ever had for their final rest was just fine by him. He didn't want to think about it any more than he had to.

The third day was mostly a blurry haze of reality sinking in, turning to an empty ache. At least his head was starting to feel better, his ribs not so terribly sore anymore, and he slipped into bed thinking he might actually get to sleep. He'd just dozed and slumbered before, too stressed and agitated to really get any rest.

Tony had settled under the duvet and was twisting onto his right side to reach for the lamp on the bedside table when he heard a noise from the window behind him. A thud, a scrape, and then the sound of the window being pushed open. Swallowing heavily, Tony turned his head around to glance over his shoulder. Although he already knew who it had to be.

The man was in a pair of jeans and a big, baggy hoodie this time, his face shadowed under the pulled up hood, both hands covered in leather gloves to hide the polished metal shine of the left one. He stopped right after his boots settled on the floor, straightened, and then raised his gloved hands to push his hood back. Showing tangled, matted hair, and – for the first time – his bare face.

Tony's first impression was of pale skin, a strong jawline covered in a few days worth of dark stubble, and a wide, full mouth, slightly down-turned in a serious expression. His forehead, straight brows, and steely gray eyes were familiar enough that Tony would have known him anywhere. And as soon as he saw him, Tony knew he'd been waiting. Not just because of the promise he thought he'd seen in those sharp, gray eyes when they parted, but because his entire being had been waiting. Restless and reaching.

A deep, hurt, torn and grieving part of Tony didn't get how that could happen, because this was the man who had robbed him of his parents. Had been about to kill him, too. If the bond hadn't triggered, stopped him in his tracks... But it had. And that bond was tugging at Tony's heart right now. An odd, almost instinctive impulse to want to hold, keep him close, make sure he was safe and sound. Even though he was more than a head taller than Tony, and likely about twice his weight.

”You found me”, Tony said, stating the obvious before he could stop himself, or at least figure out something brighter to say.

The man's mouth quirked up faintly at the corners, drawing Tony's attention to how absolutely deliciously pretty that mouth was, even behind the stubble. ”Of course I did”, he said, voice dark and rich and warm, smooth and soothing like melted chocolate.

And then Tony pushed himself up sitting properly, turning around fully. Before he had even reached his arm out, over the edge over the bed, the man was already moving. Three long, heavy steps, then a knee settled on the edge of the bed and made the mattress dip to the side, tipping Tony right into his open, waiting embrace.

When his forehead hit the man's clavicles, Tony was already crying. It took a long time for him to stop.

* * *

While he was the Soldier, there was only one thing in the universe that was real: his mission.

They woke him up from the cold and dark, they filled his head with orders, and let him loose on the world. He did what they sent him to do, and then he returned for the chair and the ice. A well-trained attack dog. He even had a muzzle. The leash was really all that was missing, and it wasn't as if he needed one anyway. 

Part of him was always aware that this wasn't the only thing that existed. His memories were still there, floating like pinpoints of light and colour through the dark void, but they were disconnected from his new reality. Because they didn't remove the memories from him – no, they removed him from his memories. So perhaps there was more to the world than orders, missions, kills, but none of it mattered to the Soldier.

He was a ghost in the torn remains of his own past. And when he saw flashes of city streets and alleyways that smelled of home, he couldn't understand why. When he remembered a skinny, blond little kid that was all spitfire sunshine and the back of his mind whispered that _you love him_ , it made no sense.

It was always there, a layer plastered over this strange world, warping it with meaningless information, but it was never enough to stop him in his tracks. He still picked up his gun, and did what he was sent to do. Because that was the only thing that was real, even when he didn't know why.

Until he dragged another skinny kid out of the back of a wrecked car on the shoulder of a snow-covered road. A kid trembling like a terrified rabbit in his grasp, wet from pissing himself in fear, eyes so dark and wide in the faint lights. The Soldier clamped his flesh-and-blood hand around the boy's jaw, tilting his head up so he could make sure this was the one. That he fulfilled his mission. That he didn't leave a target alive.

And that was the last thing the Winter Soldier ever did.

By the time his knees hit the road, his lap full of the child he'd been sent to kill, the Soldier was gone, and... someone else was back. It was still all a mess then, a tangle of memories he wasn't sure were his, or where one thing ended and another began. At least it all felt real. But none of it more real than the small, shivering boy in his arms. The boy he had just turned into an orphan.

He wished he could have stayed there, comforted, kept safe, but he knew that would put the boy in more danger than if he left. If he stayed, that would lure _them_ here, and he couldn't allow them close to the boy.

So he left. Even though he never went far. He followed the boy's tracks to the hospital, traced him and the old man who came to bring the kid back home. Then he stayed close for three days, keeping an eye on everyone who came and went.

The tall, bald man with heavy, determined steps made him vaguely uneasy, but he wasn't sure why. The rest of the visitors meant nothing to him, other than that they didn't appear to be threats.

By now, the memories of his time as the Soldier were what was disconnected, shattered, confusing him, the way his older memories had confused him before. 

It took him most of those three days to sort it all into some form of order. What he was left with wasn't perfectly tidy, by any means, but it was better. It was something he could hold on to. And in the center of it was the only thing in his universe that was real: Tony Stark.

From that solid center, his life and memories slowly settled in spirals and swirls, moving out until it had covered at least most of the world. A galaxy of fragmented memories and the dust of the past.

He was James Barnes. That he knew. Once he'd been called Bucky, but that name was too connected to that blond, skinny kid in Brooklyn, and he still shoved those memories aside. They were there, he knew they were his and that they were real, but they hurt like a bitch and he decided that they could wait. He could sort them out later.

Anyway, the last time he'd seen Steve, his friend hadn't been that little kid from Brooklyn anymore. That made it easier, somehow. They had both changed so much. The past had done a number on them both. And now Steve was long gone. _They_ had gotten him in the end. But perhaps that was better? At least he'd never have to see where the Bucky he knew had ended up.

None of that was important, though. All that mattered right now, was the boy. The boy without a right arm. His Mirror. The person he had been so sure didn't exist when he was a kid himself. And he hadn't been wrong, had he? Because back then Tony definitely hadn't existed. He and Steve had watched the man who would become Tony's father make a fool of himself on that stage back... forever ago. But that was it. The boy hadn't been real then.

He was real now. And James needed to make sure he was safe and sound. At least as much as he could be after what he... no, what _the Soldier_ had done to his parents. So three days he spent watching from a distance, during which he spotted and took out two Hydra agents sneaking and sniffing around in the streets, most likely trying to find out why Tony Stark was still alive. Then James finally made his own way up to the Stark family mansion – which was far too easy, he would have to do something about that – and climbed the side of the building until he found the room he knew belonged to Tony, having seen the boy move inside several times over the last days. 

A light was still burning by the kid's bed when he pushed the window open and climbed in, and then Tony was curled up there staring at him. He was naked from the waist up, where his duvet pooled, giving James a clear view of his skinny ribcage, the deep bruises across his chest from the seatbelt that had saved his life. James had seen traces of the same bruising on his own chest, already fading rapidly, when he had ripped himself free of the body armour Hydra had strapped him into.

Tony's one, left arm resting in his lap and the stump of his right turned just enough his way that James could get a glimpse of it. Dark hair a mess, a couple of thick, heavy locks falling down his forehead, eyes huge when his mouth opened.

”You found me.” Voice as small and thin as he was.

He couldn't completely keep the smile off his face at that, because now he knew that the boy had been waiting for him to come. Just as much as he'd longed to get there. ”Of course I did”, he assured, as calm as he could manage.

Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with the boy sobbing in his arms. He heard himself make hushing noises into the kid's messy hair, and then he quickly tugged off the leather gloves he'd been hiding his hands in, so he could feel the boy there – real, alive, safe.

The first touch of his metal palm to Tony's back made the kid flinch and suck down a sharp little gasp, the surface of it so much colder than his skin.

”Sorry”, James said, starting to pull his hand back. He should have realized that wouldn't be comfortable. He'd just been too eager to get his hands on the kid.

But then he felt the boy shake his head where his face was tucked in against the side of James's neck, a wet, muffled murmur following. ”S'okay. Don't let go.”

So he kept rubbing slow circles into Tony's shoulders and ribs while they were still racked by sobs, even though they were calming down noticeably now. He made sure to follow the cool touch of the left hand with his warm, flesh-and-blood hand, rubbing heat back into the boy's skin. Until the metal palm was warm enough that there was barely any difference in the temperature of his touches, only the smooth hardness of his mechanical hand setting it apart from his real one.

By then James had moved them so he was sitting with his back to the headboard of the bed, and Tony was curled up sideways in his lap. The stump of his right shoulder was pressed into James's chest, his little left hand clenched to a fist in the front of the dark hoodie, his face still hidden by James's thoroughly tear-soaked throat. But now the kid was breathing slow and easy, boneless and relaxed in his arms.

Smiling to himself, James let his right hand wander up into the boy's messy, dark curls, raking through them, tugging gently, feeling the quality of the thick, glossy strands against the pads of his fingers. A humid little sigh that felt like contentment touched his skin, so he let his fingers trail down to the nape of Tony's neck, exploring now slack muscles and the knobs of his vertebrae. He continued down between the boy's shoulder blades, over the ridges of his ribs, flattening his hand over the dip of his waist, noting how the width of his palm reached all the way from the lower ribs to the sharp jut of a hipbone under the kid's briefs.

And suddenly it wasn't enough to hold Tony close. He needed to make sure all of him was fine.

With an almost impatient little noise in the back of his throat, James flipped them over on the bed until Tony was sprawled out on his back on the rumpled sheet, looking dizzy from the sudden, fast movements, his fingers still clinging to the front of James's hoodie. He only reluctantly let go when he seemed sure that James wasn't going anywhere, just staying there hovering above him on all fours. Then he let his hand drop to his thin chest, dark eyes blinking slowly, still red-rimmed from crying.

Sitting back on his heels a little, to regain the use of his arms, James pushed the boy's hair away from his forehead, took in the still childishly soft lines of his nose and jaw, running thumbs along his cheekbones. He slipped his hands down to the still narrow shoulders, felt his way along clavicles, tapping gently at his sternum as it flexed with his breathing, felt the steady heartbeat thud against his fingertips. He counted the rise and fall over the arches of ribs, assured himself that nothing was broken under the deep bruising. He thought he could almost close his hands all the way around the boy's waist. Stomach flat but boyishly soft, quivering under his fingers. Then he ran his hands back up so he could catch Tony's arm, feeling the skinny length of the limb, the perfect joint of the elbow, pressing the little palm against his own stubbly cheek. He had expected it to be smooth and soft, and was surprised by the rough callouses already forming there. Then he placed a kiss on the boy's fingertips, felt them twitch against his lips, heard a hitch in his beathing, and looked down.

The kid's brown eyes were even wider and darker now. He stared for a moment, then he tugged his hand free from James's, gently, and reached out for the tab of the zipper on his hoodie, pulling it down.

James took the hint, and quickly shrugged out of the garment. When the small, eager fingers twisted into the fabric of the thin sweater he wore under it, pulling the hem free of his jeans, he tilted his head forward, reached behind his neck and pulled that off as well, letting it land in the same pile of cloth on the floor beside the bed. Naked to the waist, he straightened up on his knees and let the boy just watch, instinctively knowing that Tony would be as compelled to find out that he was all right as James was himself.

Tony's lips parted a little while he studied the bare chest above him. Licking absently at his bottom lip he reached out again, felt his way up the dips and ripples of abdominals, ribs, and pectorals, brushed fingertips over the scar tissue connecting James to the metal of his left arm, making a small, inquisitive sound.

”I'll tell you”, James promised. ”Another day.”

The kid nodded, sucked his lips in between his teeth and stroked his palm down the metal plates, running a fingernail between two of them, making James shudder. He couldn't _feel_ it, exactly. Not the way he felt touch on his skin. But there was definitely sensation of pressure there, impulses traveling into his nerves, and he had never experienced it as strongly as now, when it was his Mirror touching him.

He was sure Tony wasn't content with his exploration just yet, but he had held his own off long enough by now. So he shifted backward on the mattress, out of reach for the boy, instead focusing on shoving his hands in under the kid's thighs on the bed, lifting his legs and feet into his lap. He studied the bend of his knees the way he had marveled at his elbow before, then lifted his tiny feet so he could study each toe, rub thumbs into the arches of his feet, before he carefully settled them back on the bed.

Which almost concluded his examination of his mate. Almost. 

James ran his hands back up the slim thighs to the narrow hips, and slipped his fingers under the waistline of the boy's briefs. Part of him figured the kid would likely object to the treatment, but then Tony just arched up off the bed, lifting his butt from the mattress to make things easier as James tugged his only garment off him.

It wasn't really until he had the boy laid out naked on the bed that he remembered how young Tony actually was. It hadn't registered with him before he had the flushed, almost hairless genitals laid bare before him. The round shapes of his balls seemed almost too small to be real, the half-hard length of his uncut little prick nestled in the hollow where his groin attached to his hip.

Something settled in his gut as he sat back on his heels again, eyes drinking in the sight of his mate, checked over and safe and _right here_. A calm satisfaction, the warmth of the bond curled around his heart.

An impatient whine from the boy made him realize he was the only one satisfied, though. He blinked at Tony's face, pinched in a displeased scowl.

”What?”, he asked softly, temporarily confused. What could possibly be wrong?

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed himself up sitting with a frustrated huff, the movement a bit awkward with his only arm and the softness of the mattress. ”Jesus you're slow”, he muttered as his hand instantly shot out and clutched at the button of James's jeans. ”Get them off!”

Oh. Well, of course, there was that.

To Tony's annoyance, James had to slip off the bed to get the boots he was still wearing off his feet, followed by his socks and jeans. He hadn't found any underwear, so that's all there was to it before he could turn around and face the waiting boy, who was eyeing him curiously and carefully, taking in the sight of him. James just stood there, still as a statue, arms at his sides, waiting for him to look his fill.

At last Tony let out a long, slow sigh, nodded, and then reached out his hand again. When James settled his right hand in his, Tony's fingers instantly curled around it and pulled. He didn't stop until he had James back on the bed, curled up behind him so Tony could turn himself to a little ball of limbs in the curve of his body. James's back a shield between them and the room, his flesh-and-blood arm shoved in under the pillow their heads rested on, his metal one wrapped around Tony's body, the duvet between the boy and the heavy piece of machinery. But Tony didn't seem to mind anyway, as he shifted and snuggled his back closer into the man behind him, shoved cold little feet between James's drawn up thighs, and settled with another sigh, this one pleased.

”Night, Tony”, he murmured into the boy's hair, following it with a kiss.

A moment of silence followed, before the kid's fingers came up to catch his metal thumb. ”I don't know your name”, he almost whispered, once more sounding confused, and scared, and so, so very small.

He lifted his head so he could press another kiss to the boy's cheek, before speaking softly by his ear. ”James.”

Another moment Tony was still tense, then he relaxed. But he kept his grip on to the metal thumb. ”James is good.”

”Glad you like it”, he said, honestly, as he settled back down on the bed.

He fell asleep listening to the child's slow, even breathing, feeling the warmth of Tony's hand curled around his thumb, and for the first time in decades, he didn't dream of falling through snow.

* * *

When Tony woke up the next morning, he was tucked up snug against James's side. The man was flat on his back, and Tony had his head on his chest, face almost right by his throat. Tony's arm was folded up between their bodies. Usually he would have felt sort of unprotected with the stump of his right arm being the only thing between him and the world, but when he had James's arm wrapped securely around his shoulders, holding him against the man's ribs, it didn't matter. He was still safe.

In his sleep he'd slung his right leg across both of James's thighs, heavy, solid muscle under his boyishly slim limb, curls of hair feeling coarse against his soft skin. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt good. Even with the way this placement meant his morning-stiff dick was pressed right into the man's hip. Tony couldn't make himself be bothered by that. Not with the way they had both checked each other over the night before. 

It felt natural. Being tightly tangled up like this, clinging to each other skin to skin.

Carefully, Tony turned his head just enough that he could get a glimpse of James's face. He didn't want to move around too much, in case his mate was still asleep. Tony had a feeling the man would need his rest. Turned out James was awake, though he didn't seem to notice that Tony was.

From this angle, Tony could only just make out what looked like a furrow between the man's brows, and the way his steel-gray eyes were aimed at the wall above Tony's bed. The closest corner of his full, plush mouth was turned down in a twist Tony couldn't make sense of.

He knew perfectly well what it was James was looking at, though. Of course he did. It was the three Captain America posters that had been tacked to the wall by Tony's bed since he'd been five. Back then he'd been too tiny to get them up there by himself, so Jarvis had helped him, Tony calling out shrill directions from across the room to make sure they all ended up neat and straight. The bright colours of red, white and blue had faded a little over the years, especially on the poster by the foot of the bed, because the sunlight from the window touched that one every afternoon. Tony hadn't been able to make himself take them down, though. They belonged there.

There were many nights when Tony had only felt safe enough to go to sleep because he told himself that Cap was watching over him, so nothing bad could happen during the dark hours. A stars-and-stripes decorated shield between Tony and the monsters under the bed. That was years ago now, but those posters still meant a lot to him.

Shifting a little, Tony turned his head more, so he could get a better look at James's face. The man didn't notice his minute movement, entirely focused on the posters. His expression was still difficult to interpret, but Tony thought there was something like sadness and... longing? It was mixed up with something too conflicted to give a name, though, so Tony wasn't sure what to call it.

Maybe it wouldn't turn out to be anything different from what Howard had always projected when he'd looked at old pictures of the Captain, or talked about the old days when he'd actually known the man behind the uniform. That unspoken but still always clear message of _why aren't you like him?_ that had made Tony even more reluctant to be in his father's presence.

He'd still wanted those posters, though. 'Cause Cap was a good man and he'd protect Tony, just like he'd protect anyone else. To him, it wouldn't matter that Tony was short an arm.

But maybe that's what James wanted, too? Someone good and strong and capable between him and the world? 

Fuck knows that wasn't Tony. 

Cap was gone, though. Had been for almost 40 years. So James was stuck with Tony for a Mirror, the one who was meant to keep them both safe.

With a deep sigh he burrowed back into the man's neck, sucking down the warm, rich, salty scent of him, just slightly tangy with sweat in a way that only made it better, more real. Felt his tangled hair tickle Tony's forehead. And then the arm slung around his back tightened, as James realized he was awake and pulled him closer. 

”Mornin', kid.” The words, sleep-rough, had a bit more of an accent than Tony could remember there being last night. A twang of something that felt more light-hearted and genuine than the way he'd spoken before. 

”Mornin'.” Without meaning to, he found himself mirroring that twang right back. But hey, wasn't that what he was supposed to be doing?

It made James chuckle softly, the rhythmic tightening of his belly somehow making Tony warm all over. Just like the puff of breath and the following kiss against his hair. His fingers were gently stroking along Tony's right collar bone, circling the front of his shoulder, and then back.

The touch relaxed Tony enough that he murmured his next words into James's throat without much censorship. ”Aunt Peggy gave me those posters when I was a kid. She said that even if you're small, you can still be great.” 

He could _feel_ James turn serious in the silence that followed his words. The stroking fingers stopped moving, and Tony noticed them turn slightly stiff and tense.

That woke Tony up to reality enough that he considered what he'd said. ”I know I'm not”, he hurried to add. ”Great, I mean. But I'll do better, and I'll -”

And then James hushed him, cutting his words off, before he shifted so they were almost chest to chest, his metal arm coming to wrap around Tony's back, dragging him in even closer. ”Of course you're great”, he said, a harsh edge to the words that seemed like it came from conviction rather than anger. ”All the shit I've put you through, before I even knew you existed, and you're still here? Tony...” James sighed. ”You're incredible.”

Tony huffed a little, where the side of his face was now pressed into James's pectoral. Mostly to hide the way his breath hitched. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

So they stayed like that, silent and tangled together.

”I need to be out of here”, James said after a while, still speaking into Tony's hair, but it didn't feel warm anymore. Now that touch of breath chilled him.

”Don't want you to”, Tony muttered, pressing close, hooking his heel behind the man's knee, clinging on like an octopus with that limb instead of the arm he was missing. The left one lodged between their chests was useless, after all. Not that it would have been enough to keep his mate in place anyway.

”Yeah, believe me, I don't wanna go either.” James sounded even softer now. His flesh-and-blood arm still curled around Tony's upper back, the metal one moving to cup the back of Tony's head and once more tucking his face closer in by the side of his stubbly throat. ”I'll be comin' back, tonight. Okay?”

For a few moments Tony clung on in stubborn silence, then he huffed and let go, going limp against the man's chest. ”Fine.”

James really did seem reluctant to go as he gently untangled himself from Tony, who had just gone sullen and boneless and was no help at all. He made sure to tuck the duvet back up around Tony's shoulders as soon as he was out of the bed, keeping the winter-chilled air in the room at bay. Tony watched with one eye peeking over the duvet as James pulled his clothes back on from where they had been carelessly discarded on the floor, finishing up by going down on first one knee and then the other to quickly and deftly tie his boots.

When he stood back up he looked like he wanted to step back up to the bed, touch Tony again, his hands – once more hidden in leather gloves – twitching by his sides. But then he turned and walked over to the window instead. There was no real light outside, since the sun came up late these winter mornings. James turned, gave Tony a quick, military-sharp salute, and then slipped out the window and was gone, so fast Tony might have missed it if he'd blinked.

Tony stayed in bed, staring at the window for a long time, and didn't fall back asleep. He just pretended to be waking up when Jarvis came knocking about an hour later, making sure he got up for breakfast. Tony almost jumped out of bed with the old butler standing there in the doorway, before he remembered that he was stark naked.

(Heh, stark...)

Using the excuse that he had to take a shower first, Tony made Jarvis leave him to his own devices. 

After a quick wash, his hair still wet enough to be dripping, he hurried down to the kitchen. Jarvis shook his head with a fond smile, tossed a clean kitchen towel over his head, making Tony give an undignified squawk, and then placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him on the breakfast table in a corner of the warm, homey kitchen where Tony preferred to eat his meals. 

Family meals, which had been rare and mostly happened when they had guests and therefore weren't really family meals at all, had been eaten in the dining room. Which was huge and formal and made Tony feel small and clumsy, with too much ancient, fine china to accidentally break and too many forks to choose from on the table.

The kitchen – smelling of wood-smoke from the old stove that Jarvis had refused to give up when Howard wanted to replace it a more modern one, of ground coffee, baking bread, and spices – that was home. Not the high ceiling and the many empty chairs in the dining room.

”I was thinking of making Christmas cookies later”, Jarvis said when he picked up Tony's empty plate.

Christmas... Tony had barely thought about it with everything that had happened to turn his life upside-down, but yeah, today was actually December 21. Christmas was just days away. Of course there had to be cookies. His mother would have made sure there was a plate of them in the livingroom – even though neither of his parents ever touched them.

Tony swallowed. ”You... want help?”

”I'd be happy if you wanted to”, Jarvis said, smiling and ruffling long, spindly, and so gentle fingers through his damp hair. The butler had always called Howard ”sir”, but he'd never used a title with Tony. And Tony really wouldn't want him to. ”Or just keep me company.”

”Let me clean the bowl, and you've got yourself a deal.” Tony tried to grin, even though he thought it turned sort of wobbly. But Jarvis letting him eat the last of the raw cookie dough from the bowl was tradition, after all.

”Deal.”

Tony fled, before he could start sniffling and sobbing right there.

His room felt emptier than usual when Tony got back up there. For a while he stood staring at the unmade bed, wondering if he'd imagined having company in it just hours ago. But the memory was too vivid to be a dream. The details too clear to be imagined.

They gave Tony an idea.

Rifling through his old, worn desk he found a yellowing sketchpad he hadn't used in years, a pencil to go with it, and then shoved the drawers closed before he turned to face the room again.

Tony walked across the floor and opened the door to his walk-in closet, so the full-length mirror on the inside of it could catch the cold, midwinter daylight from the window. Then he settled on the floorboards in front of it, right side turned to the reflective surface, and propped the sketchpad in his lap, a book under it so he could draw without bending the thing in half. With a squint, he took in the shape of his own boyishly skinny and lanky torso and arm, and then quickly sketched it out on the pad. He didn't include his face, just the shadowed column of his neck above his narrow shoulders, his ribs, the dip of his waist. He put more detail into the curve of his right shoulder, the stump of his arm, and then he got off the floor again, pulled his sweater back on and sat down by his desk instead, where drawing was more comfortable.

The light was clearer and sharper here, and with a frown Tony corrected a few lines that looked off. He wasn't an exceptionally skilled artist, but he was at least fairly good. Good enough to make things look mostly how he wanted them.

When he was satisfied with the look of his body on the paper, Tony erased the faint lines that had hinted at the end of his missing arm. The tip of his pencil hovered over the page for a moment after that, while he bit his lip, considering, but then he let it settle on the paper and started to draw a new arm hanging by his side. One made of smoothly sliding, interlocking plates of metal.

He'd never considered a prosthesis before. They were mostly useless, looking like something stolen off a mannequin in a shop. The only purpose it filled was letting people looking at him pretend that he actually had an arm, when they all knew he really didn't. It seemed ridiculous more than anything else. Tony didn't want to be weighed down by something that would do absolutely nothing to help him in his everyday life. Just to make other people more comfortable. But James's arm? That was... something. It wasn't a dead weight merely filling out his sleeve, it was something that moved, gripped, functioned like a real arm.

Just as capable of ripping the door clean off a car, as it was of gently cupping the back of Tony's head, as careful as if he'd been glass.

And fuck, but was it ever gorgeous.

Closing his eyes, Tony could remember the sleek, polished look of it, the neat feel of the grooves between the plates, the way it shifted around like an unbelievable puzzle when it moved. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, touched it with his own hand, he would have thought it was something imaginary. Science fiction. But it had been right there, real and solid, and so it had to be possible.

Yeah, something like that he'd definitely consider wearing.

He knew he'd also likely have to build the thing himself. That wasn't something he knew how to do yet, but that just meant he had a goal to work towards.

The mechanical parts of the arm he had no reason to believe he couldn't engineer his own version of. That was the easy part, really. But since it was obvious that James could control that arm with his mind directly, it had to somehow be hooked up to his nervous system, letting his brain control it, not some computer. It was fascinating and intriguing and Tony wished there was someone he could talk to about it.

But Tony was pretty sure that the people who had fitted James with that arm, were the same people who had sent him after Tony and his parents to begin with. That arm was probably just another weapon to them. Just like James... 

A by now almost familiar twist of mixed grief and rage knotted up his stomach. The feeling had been conflicted last night, when he hadn't been sure how to handle both sides of it in relation to James.

Now he decided that it didn't matter. It still hurt, probably would for years, but it would be all right. James was his. No matter what had happened, that would never change.

In Tony's mind, still young but already brilliant, and capable of a terrifying focus, the grief and the rage aligned – both aimed now at the shadowy, faceless figures of whoever had sent James after his family. They had robbed Tony of his parents, almost of his life, and they _had hurt James_. He could still remember the shocked, confused look on the man's face when they were sitting there by the side of the road, realizing what he'd done. And what he had almost done.

That bone-deep sense of loyalty that Rhodey had once tried to tell him about, the one that came from his every cell, filled his lungs like air, rushed through his heart with every beat, hit him all at once. Like a brick in the face.

Gasping, staring down at the drawing of an arm he still didn't have, Tony already knew that there was nothing in this world that would stop him from finding those faceless people, and make them pay. Make them regret ever laying a finger on his mate. Maybe he was no Captain America, but he'd prove to James that he could still do it. That he could be great. For him.

For them both.

* * *

They fell into a kind of routine almost at once.

During the day, James kept his distance, stayed hidden, and watched over his little mate from far enough away that no-one could accidentally connect them. He watched anyone who came and went, made mental notes of them all, faces and cars and clothes, names if he could find them.

There were surprisingly few people coming and going at the Stark mansion. Except for the butler – the tall, lanky and always perfectly polite Edwin Jarvis, who James had decided was safe to have around his mate after observing the two together for just a matter of minutes – there were two maids and a cook who visited a few days a week.

The man he had figured out was the family lawyer returned twice more before the funeral, but apart from him the only visitor to the mansion – even as Christmas and New Year's passed – was the bald man James had seen around before. He didn't seem to do much except talk to Tony, making the motions of trying to cheer him up, offer support, but something was off about the look on his face, the posture of his shoulders as he patted the kid on the back. It made James's hackles rise, triggered his protective instincts. But really, the man only had to show up at the front door to give him an uneasy feeling in his gut, even though he still couldn't put his finger on why. It tugged at him, but wouldn't make itself clear.

So he kept to watching. At least during the day.

At night, James came climbing back up to Tony's bedroom window, stripped out of his stolen clothes, and slipped in under the warm duvet on the kid's bed. All under the watchful eyes of Captain America.

And Christ, hadn't that been a shock, waking up to Steve's face that first morning? Even if it had been old, painted posters, not photos of Steve. Which really made them pictures of Captain America, and not his old childhood friend. But they had been more than familiar enough.

He'd found some relief in the fact that the memories were there. Were still his own. They weren't complete and whole, but they had started coming back in bigger and bigger chunks with every day, and the pain they had always been connected to was gone. Some kind of conditioning, he guessed, there to stop him from digging deeper into the memories. The sharper details from his existense as the Soldier were slipping away more and more now instead, overwritten by his old life returning, so he wasn't sure anymore of exactly what they had done to him. James couldn't claim to be sad to see those details go, though.

In Tony's bed, they nuzzled into each other and then slept that way, like animals hidden in a burrow, until early morning chased James away again, and the whole thing started over.

The pattern wasn't even broken when January 3 rolled around and it was time for the funeral for Tony's parents, after an investigation had concluded that their deaths had been entirely accidental. No suspicions of foul play. Because of course there were no suspicions. The Soldier had known what he was doing.

James followed Tony to the cemetary, like a badly dressed shadow, and kept an eye on his mate during the ceremony. He looked so tiny and fragile in his black little suit, face porcelaine pale against wide, dark eyes and thick, messy hair that refused to be tidy, even today. A doll of a boy among the adults crowding around him, and James wished he could have been there, by his side, shielding him from all the world.

And then, there was the reception, which flooded the mansion with socialites dressed in black, and drove James literally up the wall with anxiety, heart fluttering with worry for Tony's safety with so many strangers around. He clung in the shadows outside the windows, watching unseen as the boy made it through the evening with impressive composure.

Hovering by Tony's shoulder all through that hard day, was the tall, bald man James had observed on several occasions now. He still didn't feel better about the guy. At all.

_something passes by in the back of his mind, dark and blurry, and he thinks it's the bald man leaning in over him when he's heavy and weak, cold, frozen half solid still, lips moving but he can't hear words and_

It was gone again, not making James feel any calmer about the situation. Not that there was anything he could do there and then. As usual, he had to wait until night came, when Tony was back in his bedroom, both of them undressed and James curled around his lithe, tense form. Arms wrapped around Tony's back so the kid could hide by his chest. They both knew he was crying, what with the hot wetness against James's skin, but that way they could pretend he wasn't.

In an ideal world, there would have been something he could say or do for his mate, but there was nothing. So he settled for slowly stroking his flesh-and-blood hand up and down Tony's trembling back, metal fingers running through his hair, and let him get it all out. Eventually rolling over on his back, Tony half draped over his side, he started almost drifting off in the dark room, lulled by Tony's easier breathing, sniffles coming more rarely.

But then, his breathing changed again. Coming faster, mingled with little mewling noises, and that was definitely not crying. James knew that much even before Tony's hand reached across his body, grabbing for his right hand as the boy shuffled right up under his metal arm. The movements pressed his hips into the outside of James's thigh, and oh... The kid was rock-hard and hot as a coal against his skin. He must have felt James shiver at the contact, because he clutched the man's wrist tighter in his little fingers, tugging his hand eagerly down. And it wasn't difficult to know what he wanted.

Tony managed to pull his hand as far as James's lower abdomen, giving a pleased little crooning noise in his throat, but that made James freeze. And as soon as he stopped cooperating, the boy had no chance of moving his hand further.

He couldn't let this happen. Not today.

”Tony”, he murmured, hoarse and broken. ”Don't.”

”Why not?” Dark eyes looked up at him through long lashes. And oh shit, that was much too sinful a way for a kid to look at _anyone_. ”Wanna feel good”, he muttered, almost petulantly.

Looking for a distraction, James guessed. But, Christ, he couldn't. Earlier that day he'd watched the boy by the open graves of his parents, dead by James's own hand – or the Soldier's hand, but that was close enough to break his heart – and he couldn't.

”Doesn't feel right on a day like this, kid”, he said. ”Just... It's not right for me to touch you like that, not now.”

”You don't want to.” Tony's voice was flat now, face shuttering, and he didn't even bother turning it into a question. Like it wasn't anything different from what he'd expected.

James frowned at him. ”That's not it, punk.” And god, something twisted in his gut at that word but the kid felt so _right_ , pressed against him like this. Just about the same height as Steve had been, only a little more solidly built. If the colours hadn't been so different... ”It's not that at all. I'm just...” He failed at putting it into words. It hurt too much.

”It's not me, it's you?” The kid sounded doubtful, verging on harsh, letting his face drop back on James's chest.

”This happened because of me”, he suddenly choked out. ”I did this. I have no right to... You shouldn't...” He swallowed. ”I have no right”, he repeated helplessly.

Tony went very still for a while, but then he shook his head against James's pectoral. ”You didn't do this. And I decide you have the right. 'Cause you're mine, and I'm yours and I'm saying you have the right.”

James sighed. ”Tony...” But he had no more words, he was too tired. He just tugged his wrist free, and Tony didn't even try to cling. Instead he reached to cup his hand around the back of the boy's head, and stroke his thumb by his temple.

Rubbing his cheek against him, Tony huffed, instead using his now free hand to cling with surprising strength to James's waist, pressing closer all over. He was still hard. ”Need you”, he groaned, as he started to roll his hip against James's thigh in a movement that was impossible to misinterpret. ”Need this. Don't wanna think.”

And James couldn't find it in him to stop the kid. Pushing him away now would have been too cruel a rejection. It wasn't like it bothered him that the boy wanted to get off, after all. He just couldn't find it in him to touch him like that – not today. So he settled for holding Tony in his arms while the kid panted and moaned against him, his hot little dick turning increasingly slick against his thigh, with sweat and pre-come both. But it was still a burn of friction that couldn't be entirely comfortable. Desperation-driven more than seeking pleasure.

After a while, Tony turned his head and pressed his teeth into James's pectoral. Not a proper bite, mostly pushing his front teeth into the muscle. It didn't hurt, the kid acting on a probably unwitting instinct rather than biting with purpose, but it was a reminder of how Tony some day – most likely soon, considering how precocious he was – would do it properly. When he would bury his teeth in James deep enough to give them both their Mirror Mark.

The thought made him tremble, and he wasn't sure if it was in anticipation or worry.

Either way, Tony turned his trembling into a pleasurable shiver when he shuddered and moaned and came, sticking them together even more. Soothing the faint teeth-mark he'd left with a kitten-lick.

* * *

Almost a week later, James showed up only to find Tony's bed empty. He frowned at the tidy duvet in confusion. This had never happened before. The boy had always been there waiting, and this late he'd even already been asleep quite a few times, but now there was no sign of him.

James decided to find out what was going on. He carefully opened the door, onto an hallway that stretched dark and empty in both directions. No noise to follow. Luckily, he had an idea of where he could find his mate even so – the workshop in the basement under the mansion. Because of the way Tony had so often talked about the place, it wasn't difficult to find.

When he did find the kid there, however, Tony wasn't alone. The tall, bald man was there again, and his presence made James's hackles rise, as usual.

Tony was sitting in what looked like a raised office chair by one of the worktables, his feet, safely dressed in steel-reinforced shoes, dangled almost a foot above the floor. He was a bit hunched in his seat, curled around where his arm was folded over his middle. Looking like he was expecting blows.

The man James still didn't have a name for, and no clear memories of, was speaking emphatically by the look of him, but too low for James to hear, words helped along my sweeping gestures. He now and then jabbed a finger into a stack of papers on the worktable right in front of the boy, and at one point he picked one up and held it out for Tony to get a closer look at it. Blueprints, James saw. He couldn't make out exact details, but a couple of the pictures at the top of the page made it clear it was some sort of missile.

Again, he frowned. More displeased than confused this time.

He knew what Stark Industries was built around, of course – their weapons and ammunition and explosives. But even so? Tony was _fourteen_ , for fuck's sake! He shouldn't have to get involved in that business for years, yet. Let alone less than a month after violently losing both his parents.

Who even was this asshole?! What did he think he was doing?

James silently bristled, watching from the shadows as the man leaned in lower over Tony, a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder as a sign of well-meaning. But given the way the kid hunched deeper under the weight of it, it didn't look like he was buying the gesture any more than James was. And again he thought he remembered

_bearded face and curious, almost amused eyes, peering down at him as he lies there, still frozen, barely awake, deep voice talking about him as if he's not there and really, he's not, but he hears it all anyway, how soon can he be sent to New York, doesn't look like much but perhaps he can get the job done_

and he was back, barely able to keep himself from sucking down a gasp that might have been audible to the people in the workshop. And just in time to see the man pick up his stack of papers, starting to walk toward the door. James tensed, ready to slip away, but then the man stopped and turned half around again.

”Get your things in order. I'm sending a car first thing monday.”

”I should go back to school.” Tony's voice was small and fragile and triggered every protective instinct James had – and when it came to the boy, those were many.

”This is your father's legacy we're talking about, kiddo. You need to run this company. Don't want to let him down, right?”

Fuck. James caught a glimpse of Tony, face pale, slim little body even more curled up in his seat, nodding slowly, and by god he wanted to tear the man's throat out with his teeth! How dare he?!

Not that he wanted Tony to go back to MIT either, if he was even slightly honest with himself. That would mean that he wouldn't be able to share the kid's bed anymore. They would be cut off completely from each other, for months. Just the idea of it made him howl on the inside, trembling in pain. But he'd do it, if Tony wanted to go. He'd manage, somehow. _They'd_ manage.

He tucked himself into a corner where the shadows were so deep they would be impenetrable to the human eye, while the man walked by. Then he stayed there for another few minutes, making sure he was gone, before he walked into the 'shop himself. Where Tony was still in his chair, but slumped over the table now, forehead pillowed on his arm. He walked up to the boy, careful not to keep his steps entirely silent, and Tony must have recognized the sound of his footsteps, because his drawn up shoulders visibly relaxed when James was barely half way across the floor.

”Who was that?” James didn't even bother with a proper greeting, just placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, gently pressing the pads of his thumbs into tense muscles, making the kid moan softly into the tabletop.

”Obie”, he said, voice muffled. ”Obadiah Stane. My dad's old friend and business partner. He runs SI, until I can take over.”

James carefully stored the name and this information away for future use.

”What did he want?”

”For me to finish some new designs my dad started on before he died. They want them ready to produce this year but no-one can finish the work. Except me, apparently.”

”And that's more important than college?”

”Guess so.” Tony sighed, sat up straight under James's hands, and then leaned into his chest instead. ”Not that I can go back anyway. Not when that means leaving you.”

James's heart flooded with warmth at that, and he curled his hands tighter around the boy's shoulders in reply.

”I'll miss Rhodey, though”, the boy murmured, tone subdued. ”My roommate”, he added in explanation. ”And I need to get Dummy – my 'bot – back home, so I can get some work done here.”

There was nothing much to say to that, so he just kept rubbing his thumbs into Tony's shoulders for a while, until he thought of something else.

”Won't they think something's off, if you don't go back to school? Change in behaviour is always suspicious.”

Trust the sniper, the stalker, the assassin, to know that.

”Oh, please”, Tony scoffed, and then he spun the chair around to give him such a horrifically plastic smile that it actually made James cringe inwardly. No kid of fourteen should be able to pull something that fake off that effortlessly. ”Only days ago I watched from the front row as my parents met gruesome deaths in a violent car crash”, he rattled off, voice as unnaturally cheerful as that smile, and James would have bet a lot of money he didn't have that the boy was directly quoting what some journalist had written about the event.

And part of him was a bit relieved to realize that, because if they were busy crowing with badly concealed excitement over Tony's traumatic experience, that meant there were no general suspicions about the Starks' death being anything but an accident. At least, he hoped that would have taken precedence.

Thinking about it more carefully, he wasn't actually sure that would have been more important to the media, however, and that made his insides twist in rage. Goddamn vultures.

Maybe Tony sensed his distress, because his face turned into a completely natural little frown, instead of that gleaming grin. ”Anyway. Point is, after that, I could do pretty much anything I wanted and they wouldn't think it was weird. Even if I went completely out of control, they'd just nod and excuse it. Not going back to college? That's basically expected at this point.” He spun back around, and tugged what looked like a circuit board, tangled in a nest of wires, closer across the table. ”We'll figure something out.”

It looked like he was getting ready to get back to work, but James couldn't have that. The boy needed his sleep.

”I'm sure we will”, he murmured as he let his hands slip down the front of the boy's shoulders, over his chest, to his soft waist, his palms covering the entire expanse of Tony's stomach. ”But not right now.”

”James, I have to...” Tony's protest died in his throat when he noticed the way the tips of those metal fingers were venturing in under the waist of his worn jeans. ”Oh...”

James hummed by his ear, flicking the button open with his thumb.

It was still a distraction, but it was for the boy's own good, right? And after watching that fucker Stane assume the right to push Tony around as he saw fit, with no consideration for Tony's well-being at all, James decided he at least had the right to take care of his mate. He hadn't dared think so before, but he did now. Tony wasn't Stane's to use – but he was James's to care for.

And he'd take care of the kid. Such damn good care.

Since that was all he had, Tony was obviously used to a left hand unzipping his pants and slipping into his underwear. He wasn't used to it being metal, though, but it didn't seem to be a turn-off. The opposite, if anything. With a moan the kid curled his fingers around the plates of James's wrist, feeling the arm's movements as the layers of cloth were pushed down and those cool fingers could get the space to form a careful, oh so careful fist around his prick. Mostly stoft, still, but hardening with the quickness of the very young and eager.

Whimpering at the sensation, Tony let his head thump back against the man's shoulder, and James caught sight of his face, eyes dropped closed, dark eyebrows bunched together above his sharp little nose in a twist of concentration, wet lips parted. And finally, there was a flush of colour on his previously so worryingly pale cheeks.

”Feels good, darlin'?” He let his Brooklyn twang shine through more than usual, on purpose.

Tony actually whined. ”So good! Oh fuck, please, don't... don't stop! Jesus...”

”James”, he corrected around a smirk.

”Jerk”, Tony groaned at the admittedly pretty awful joke, thrusting up into his hand.

And James's gut twisted that painful way again, even through the warmth coiled there now, memories knife-sharp.

But that was then, and this was now. Now, where Tony was coming, pulsing wet heat all over his fingers, slumping bonelessly into his front, trusting entirely in James to catch him so he wouldn't tumble to the floor.

”Punk”, he whispered into he messy, brown hair, which smelled of oil and and grease and metal. It hurt, but it still felt right.

* * *

Over the next few days – in fleeting flashes, in passing dreams – James gathered more fragments of his memories of Obadiah Stane. They lacked detail, they were dark and blurred, but they were real, he knew that for certain, and combined with the new information that the man now ran Stark Industries, he was ready to draw his conclusion.

Stane had ordered the hit on the Stark family.

He had no way of checking this detail, but he had a sneaking suspicion that if he could look over Howard Stark's will, Stane would have been the one to take over the company, if all the Starks had perished. Just as they were supposed to.

Tony sure wouldn't have let the man run his company, if the choice had been in his tiny hands. Stane might have been someone who was around as he grew up, someone his father trusted, but it was obvious that Tony didn't like him. Or trust him. Perhaps it wasn't obvious to anyone else, but James noticed the way his mate was tense under Stane's mock-affectionate touches, ducked away from his words.

The kid was _smart_ , after all. And if his instincts were half as keen as his mind, James didn't think anyone could pull anything over on him. Not even now, when he was still just a child.

That didn't mean he was going to let the man keep hovering around his Mirror, though. No, sir. Fuck that. He had to go. Now. Because if he had the kind of connections with Hydra that he could send the Winter Soldier to do his dirty work, then he was most definitely up to no good.

Finding Stane's apartment was simple enough – the man even lived in a building owned by Stark Industries, in the middle of Manhattan. James was damn sure the guy didn't pay any rent what so ever for the entire floor he inhabited.

Getting into the apartment was just as simple. There was an alarm, but disabling it was child's play. He'd done it too many times before to get tripped up by something this basic.

When Stane came home that night, James was waiting for him, comfortably seated by the kitchen table. In his dark cothes he was mostly hidden in shadows, the room having fallen into darkness early in the winter afternoon, but there was enough light falling in from the never-sleeping city outside that he would be visible, even so. His metal hand rested on the table in front of him, catching the light just enought to glint, placed a few inches from the handle of his loaded gun. Far enough away from his fingers that he wasn't touching it, but still making clear that he wouldn't hesitate to use it.

To his credit, it only took a few seconds for Stane to realize he wasn't alone. He didn't even have to turn on the lights before he froze, staring at the man in his kitchen. James could only make out the way his eyes flitted down to the metal hand and the gun, and then back to his shadowed face, because of the way his eyesight was enhanced.

Then, to James's carefully hidden amazement, the man actually _relaxed_. His heavy shoulders dropped, and a faint smirk twisted his lips.

”There you are”, he drawled. ”Was starting to wonder if you'd fallen off the edge of the world. Which would have been a pity, when your job was only two thirds done.” Stane raised a hand to loosen his tie, then settled both hands on his hips. ”You better have a good excuse for not finishing what you started.”

And right then, any sort of lingering doubts about the accuracy of his memories and guesses were wiped away, leaving only cold determination and flaring hot rage behind.

This man had sent an assassin after a fourteen year old and his parents. A family that had given him every single thing he had. Because wealth and power were not enough for this one – he still wanted more of it. Wanted _all_ of it.

”Greed”, James muttered to himself. No wonder it was a deadly sin.

Across the room, Stane picked up on the muted word and obviously took it for an answer. ”So, more money? I see how it is. Well, you can forget about that. The deal is settled. You want a bigger share, you're sure not getting it from me.”

Unmoving, James stared at him, out of the shadows. For so long Stane was starting to look a little uncertain.

”No”, James said at last, slowly and noiselessly standing up. Not bothering to reach for the gun in the movement. He was sure he wouldn't need it. ”That's where you're wrong. I'm getting it from you. Right now.”

Stane's eyes narrowed, and he took one shuffling step backward, trying to leave the kitchen. Flee.

He never stood a chance.

James was moving as soon as he saw the man's weight shift, preparing to take that step. Launching across the floor so fast Stane never got to take the second one before he was doubled up over James's flesh-and-bone fist, gasping and choking when it knocked the air right out of him. Then James twisted around, clamped his metal hand around the back of the man's neck, and dragged him into the room properly, free hand janking one of the sturdy chairs from the table, pushing Stane down sitting in it. He was still struggling for air and balance, swaying in the seat, when James got to securing him to it with the zip tie cuffs he always carried in his belt. Not like he'd gotten rid of anything that could be useful after Tony ended the reign of the Winter Soldier in his mind.

Ankles and shins, wrists and forearms and elbows, all were tied to the heavy wooden chair in seconds. By the time Stane was able to start fighting back, it was already far too late. Although, to be fair, it had been too late the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

His face was twisted up with incredulous rage. But there was no fear there. Not yet.

”What do you think you're doing?” He growled now, bristling. ”Your fucking handler will hear about this, and -”

”Oh, I'm sure he will”, James said, the almost pleasant tone none the less cutting the man's rant off instantly. ”But there won't be shit he can do. And even if there was something he could do? Some punishment in store for me?” He leaned closer, let the corners of his mouth tick up in a hint of a smile. ”That wouldn't make a lick of difference for you, now would it?”

Stane froze again, blinked, and there it was. Doubt and fear starting to leak into his eyes, putting a tremble in his lips even as he tried to press them into a tight line. He wasn't ready to admit defeat, still, but realization of his situation was clearly dawning on him.

”Okay”, he said, slower. ”I'll get you more money. How much?”

With a little huff of almost-laughter, James shook his head. ”What would I want with your money?”

Straightening, James turned on his heel and walked over to the actual kitchen, blocking out the sputtering ramble of demands and offers and deals. His eyes were drawn to the set of knives in a wooden block on the marble countertop. He ran the tip of his right index finger over the handles as he spoke, not looking back at the man on the chair.

”Funny thing I noticed about this place”, he said, casually. ”It's not actually a residential building, is it? The first ten floors are all offices, and the rest? Looks like it's still waiting to be furnished. Except this floor, of course. So you have it all to yourself, outside of office hours.”

James curled his hand around one of the smaller knives, the blade long and slim and elegantly pointed when it slipped free of the slit in the wood where it had been resting. Filleting knife, something at the back of his mind provided. That felt fitting. He turned back, knife comfortably held in his hand. It had a pleasant weight, handle solid and with a nice grip. That set must have cost a small fortune.

”Nice, isn't it? Knowing you have the whole building to yourself at night?”

Stane stared at him. Then at the knife. Then at his face again. His breathing started to speed up, visibly raising and dropping his shoulders faster as James watched.

”What do you want? If it's not money, what the fuck are you after?”

Movements slow, perfectly controlled in a way he only managed thanks to decades of imprinted muscle memory, James walked back, to stand in front of the chair.

”I want to teach you a lesson.” Absently he spun the knife between his fingers, settling it against his palm in a new grip. ”It's not one you'll have any use for in _this_ life, I'll give you that one. But some day, maybe you'll be reborn as the dirty, scurrying cockroach you are, and then? Then I hope you'll remember.”

After a strained-looking swallow, Stane opened his mouth, but there came no sound from him at all now.

James placed his metal hand on the man's shoulder, let him take the full weight of it, felt shivers run through muscle and bone, and leaned in to hold his wide-eyed gaze. ”Don't be so fucking greedy, you piece of shit.”

The last word was barely out of his mouth before he shifted forward, and slipped the tip of the knife into Stane's gut. Through cloth and skin, fat and muscle, with barely any resistance. He could faintly feel the intestine roll out of the way of the blade, too slippery and tough to let itself be cut. But that was fine, really. He had plans for that.

He made a cut that was maybe five inches long, at the most, and then dragged the knife free, feeling Stane shudder as the slightly serrated edge scraped against his insides, giving a choked, anguished noise that was too low to be a proper scream. Shock tying his throat all but shut. His skin had turned grayish pale with it, eyes stiffly staring, pupils blown wide from pain and fear.

James just left him to his gasps and groans and half-formed words, not interested in what he might have to say anyway, and carelessly let the knife drop to the tiled floor with a clatter. He would have no more use for it. Instead he tore the front of Stane's bloody shirt open, shifted his position, and placed his metal fingers against the wound in the man's quivering abdomen. As he pushed those digits into the opened body cavity, he held Stane's eyes, now fluttering in panicked blinks, tears running down his pale cheeks, and offered him a smile that would have been pleasant at any other time. Now, he guessed it looked pretty damn disturbing.

Silently, he pushed his hand in deeper, the only noises in the room the garbled, wheezing, sputtering attempts at pleas for mercy from Stane, and the faint whirring from James's metal arm as it worked. He felt the heat coming off the blood and guts, as they tried to slither away again. But the grip of his mechanical fingers wasn't so easy to escape, and in moments he had a pinkish, glistening coil of intestine captured, tugging it out through the gaping slit of the bleeding wound.

Stane shrieked and jerked in his ties, but got nowhere. James had made sure he wouldn't, no matter what.

It was almost impressive how he clamped his mouth shut, staring up at James's face when he held Stane's own intestine up by his face, message clear.

”Open.” His voice was so flat he almost didn't recognize it as his own, a hint of the Soldier showing through. But there was nothing cold and unfeeling about him now, no outside force ruling his mind and aiming his hand. His heart burned with scorching rage, a seething, unstoppable kind of hate for the man who had so nearly made him kill his own Mirror.

_Unforgivable._

The man didn't open his mouth.

James hadn't really expected him to. And it wasn't necessary, anyway. He simply pulled his hand back a few inches, and then punched the fist holding a tight grip on the slippery intestine right into his mouth, through a spectacular spray of blood from his split lips, along with shattered teeth and bone.

The ruin of Stane's mouth only managed a pitiful, bubbling mess of a noise, devoid of any meaning except pain and terror, as James methodically pushed the coil of his small intestine down the back of his throat.

With his free hand he clasped the back of Stane's neck again, and forced him to meet his steel-gray gaze, even if he wasn't sure how much the man understood of what was happening anymore.

”Swallow”, he ordered, noticing how an almost gleeful note had made its way into his voice.

It took most of the night, but in the end, Stane did swallow.

And then he choked. And retched. And swallowed again.

It was goddamn glorious.


	2. 1985–2002

Years later, Tony figured that Obie's death changed everything about how his life might have been.

It felt unreal in many ways, that he was actually gone. He'd been a constant in Tony's life, just like his parents and like Jarvis. A constant that had always made Tony feel vaguely uneasy, yeah, but a constant none the less.

But after Obie, along with his apartment, were so completely reduced to ashes that the forensic investigation came up with nothing for how the fire had started in the first place, that constant was gone forever. Unlike after losing his parents, though, it wasn't so much that his life got turned upside-down, and more that it settled into something he was more able to control himself.

Gone was the decision that he wasn't going back to college. Gone the idea that he should be working on his father's old, unfinished designs. In fact, it seemed no-one on the board even knew about those, which made Tony wonder.

So, Tony went back to MIT. The semester had already started but there was no question about his ability to catch up.

He got a new dorm room, where he didn't have a roommate. Because of course he had to live ”alone” now, so that James could still come and go as he pleased, slipping out with the dawn, sneaking back home for the night like a half-feral cat. Tony missed living with Rhodey, a lot, but they still spent almost as much time together as before.

Tony spent his days studying, attending his classes, secretly drawing schematics and making calculations for the arm he was still planning on building for himself some day, and watching movies and playing games with Rhodey. Then he came back to his room for the night.

There, he and James soon fell back into their old pattern from the nights at the mansion. Every night when it was time for them to go to bed, they would strip down and get into bed to spend some time checking each other over. It eased their instinctual worry after being apart for the whole day, let them make sure the other was all right, and not injured. Some days James would know that Tony had burned a finger while working in the workshop, and even if the mark was long healed on them both, he would take extra time soothing the spot with his fingertips.

The routine settled them both, made their bond calm and strong.

Those quiet moments of touch and closeness was Tony's favourite time of day. When his Mirror was there, and safe, and everything was right with the world.

He'd be stretched out on his back, knees hooked over James's thighs, where the man was curled around him, slowly tracing the tips of his metal fingers along the soft expanse of Tony's flat stomach. Into the dip of the solarplexus between his ribs, circling his bellybutton, tracing the ridges of his hipbones, tickling along the creases of his hips, making the boy giggle and squirm on the sheet until Tony twisted up into a ball of limbs, tucked into James's front, hiding. Then his Mirror would kiss his hair, drag the covers over them both, and they would go to sleep.

Time passed fast like that.

Tony graduated, summa cum laude, when he'd just turned sixteen, but he chose to stay at school for another year, adding courses on advanced computer programming, and anything else that caught his eye. He then took his 'bot and all his new knowledge of engineering and robotics, and perepared to move back to New York, to set up shop in the old family mansion. He would also bring James back with him, obviously, and by now they both agreed that it was no longer possible for him to come sneaking in and out of Tony's home. It wasn't practical, and would make it easier for anyone to spot him, or for suspicions to rise.

By now Tony also knew more about James, even though he didn't know much. James had told him that he had been captured by the people who had eventually sent him after the Starks – Hydra, he called them. Captured when he had been badly injured in an accident, losing his arm in a fall, he'd said. But there weren't many details. James knew that they had used some sort of torture on him that had pushed aside his memories to put commands in their place, and even though bonding with Tony had snapped him out of the conditioned hold that had put on him, a lot of his past was gone. He didn't know more than his first name. He had no idea when he was born, or how he'd ended up in that fateful accident.

Or so he claimed.

Some days Tony fully believed him, because James was his Mirror and why would his own mate lie to him?

Other days he saw James gray eyes go distant while they talked of the past, felt something through the bond that was almost like sadness. Or guilt. Something bitter and cold. And he wondered.

Maybe James remembered more of who he was than he wanted to tell Tony, but if so, Tony couldn't make sense of why.

By looking and listening alone, Tony had figured out a few things about his mate on his own.

He guessed that James was maybe 25, or a bit older. He was obviously in great shape, muscles solid and tough, and he was stronger than even his looks could explain. Tony now knew for a fact that the superior healing he had himself wasn't something unique to him, but something else the Mirror bond had given him from James. Something he assumed had been given to him by Hydra, along with the arm. It made sense. They had performed other experiments on James, and that arm was like something picked out of the future. Clearly, whoever they really were, Hydra knew their shit.

What they had done to James had made him stronger, faster, and given him an inhumanly fast regeneration. Though only the last of those seemed to have been passed on through their bond. Tony definitely hadn't grown big and strong, even though he some days wished he had.

It also sounded a lot like James was from New York. Brooklyn, Tony would guess, if he had to be specific.

But then there was the detail with math.

Because Tony had been born without an arm. He wasn't sure about the healing, but the way Jarvis told it, it was very likely that had been there from day one, too. And Tony was now 17. So if he had guessed even sort of right about James's age, that meant he would have been about 10, _at most_ , when he fell, lost his arm, and was captured by Hydra.

Something about that felt off.

It was clear that James had been an assassin for Hydra, and a good one. Tony wouldn't guess that James's attack on his family had been his first mission, or even close to it. It was a high-risk, high profile hit. Why send _anyone_ but your very best? So how had James had the time to grow up, be fitted with an adult-sized, badass metal arm, _and_ become an experienced enough killer to be sent after the Starks – all in the span of 15 years?

That couldn't be right.

There was also something in the way James spoke about his few memories from before that made Tony suspect he had been an adult even before the accident. Memories of travel, of friends, women, dancing... There were no details, but still? No 10-year-old would have memories like that.

The only thing that made sense was that James was older than he appeared. Perhaps a lot older. Which wouldn't be surprising, considering how his body renewed itself.

Could that be what he was hiding?

For Tony plan to get James safely back to New York, though, what mattered was that he could easily pass for a man in his twenties. And Tony was going to make the most of it.

Because no matter the timeline, the chances were that Hydra were still looking for their lost assassin, and Tony was going to try to hide him in hopefully the last place they'd look – plain sight.

First of all, he managed to make a kind of latex glove for James's hand. He couldn't make it realistic, not really, not yet. He'd work on it. But at least it would hide the metal and make it look more like a normal prosthesis, as long as he kept it still. The faint whirring of the movements would give it away, anyway. But from a distance, or just for moving around in the streets, it was better than James wearing gloves, especially now, in the summer. That would draw more eyes.

Then, it was time for a complete make-over.

When it came to himself, Tony didn't put a lot of thought or effort into his looks. He supposed that he, in a purely objective way, was sort of... cute? By now he was starting to properly grow into his limbs, even if it seemed he wasn't getting taller than the five feet, seven inches he reached these days. He was getting a bit less soft around the edges, but his face was still too much smooth cheeks and big, brown eyes to be considered anything like good-looking in a manly way. Which was fine. Really. Some day his facial hair would kick in and he'd make up for it with a beard or something.

His hair was always a mess because he was running his hand through it and twisting it around his fingers while he was reading or working.

He basically dressed in nothing but worn, oil-stained work pants and faded t-shirts, unbothered by the way it left his lack of a right arm on display. He hadn't worn dress shoes since Obie's funeral – now it was sneakers or the reinforced, steel-toed shoes he wore in the 'shop. 

Tony knew good-looking when he saw it, though. And James was it. Even though his current look seemed to be mostly about hiding that fact. Long tangles of dark hair always getting in his face and eyes, the scruff of stubble hiding the shape of his strong jaw, slouching and tipping his head down to hide the shape of his body, just like his nondescript, black clothes.

Now, they could use that to their advantage, however. And so now, there was a Plan.

Step 1 – the barber. James was less than pleased about being out in public with Tony at all, but they had to start somewhere. And once his face had been shaved baby-smooth and his hair expertly cut short, Tony was sure no-one would even know him as the same guy anymore. The colour of his hair even seemed lighter now, when it was sleek and shining.

When it was all done, James shuffled to the edge of his seat, leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head and hesitantly raising his right hand to run his fingertips through his hair, following the neat line of a parting. Blinking at his own face's reflection like he barely knew it himself.

Step 2 – playing dress-up. Now this was where Tony got to have his fun. Sure, he gave zero fucks about his own appearance on most days, but he knew clothes, when he wanted to.

Away with the black. Instead there where softly gray slacks draping nicely along James's legs, hiding the heels on the shoes Tony had picked out to make him look even taller than he was. Suddenly his legs were long and lean, and with the darker gray shirt and dark blue blazer to go with it, the lines of his body were much slimmer, elegant rather than showing off solid muscle. His skin looked even paler like this, smoothly perfect over the hollow of his clavicles, left bare by the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

Again, James stood there blinking at himself, cautious fingers smoothing down a dark blue lapel.

Tony stepped up by his right shoulder, smiling at him through their mirrored images. ”Almost perfect”, he murmured, raising his hand to dig the tip of his index finger into James's spine, right at the curve between his shoulder blades. Forcing him to straighten his back, shoulders tipping back, chin coming up. ”Hm, a bit too parade rest... Try this.” With his knee he nudged the back of James's, urged it to bend, making the man shift his weight into a relaxed contrapost. ”That's more like it. Now, left hand in your pant pocket? Yeah, like that.”

For a moment James's face was just blank, like he'd had a shock. Then he tilted his head a little, gray eyes running up and down his own frame, he blinked again, and something in his gaze cleared. The corners of his lips curled up, softly, like he was pleased, and his eyes at last met Tony's in the reflection.

”Now you're ready to play the part of Tony Stark's boyfriend”, Tony said, smirking back at him.

James's face pinched a little. ”What?” He shifted and turned around until he could frown down at Tony in person, instead of through the glass. ”That's not... legal. Is it? We're both men.”

”Has been for seven years, in New York.” Tony beamed up at him. ”At least, between consenting adults. And since May 29, I happen to be the age of consent. So, it all works out.”

”They'll still think I'm too old for you.”

Eyes narrowing, Tony studied the worried face of his Mirror. With the cut and the shave and the new clothes, he could easily pass for being in his very early twenties. Tony waved the concern away with a gesture. ”Some might, sure, but I'm a Stark. They'll expect me to do something scandalous. I'm years overdue on freaking the press out. And anyway, the idea is to hide you in plain sight.”

With a huff, James looked down at himself, stroking absently down his shirt front. ”As disguises go, I've had worse.”

”I imagine so”, Tony murmured, reaching up to run his hand along the collar of his shirt, neatening it along the blazer. Then he reached higher, tickled his fingertips into the short hairs at the nape of James's neck, feeling his Mirror shiver at the unfamiliar sensation. ”How about we practice you playing the part, then?” He wrapped his fingers around the back of James's neck, urging him down while Tony pushed up on the tips of his toes. In those stupid heels James was even harder to reach. No fair.

There was a moment of resistance in James's body, spine stubbornly stiff, and his eyes darted around the dressing rooms, empty but for them.

”See?”, Tony chastised softly. ”Can't have you do that. It's gotta come natural.”

”Fine, punk”, James muttered, and the his neck finally turned pliant under the pads of Tony's fingers. He leaned in, tilted his head, and slotted their lips together. His newly shaved skin was satiny against Tony's, smelling spicy-sweet of aftershave. Close and intimate, and even if James never deepened the kiss beyond a plush press of warm, damp lips, it left Tony a bit short of breath, unsteady on his feet.

They'd never done that before. Kiss, like lovers. Even if there had been times when James had happily helped Tony to get off, his deft hands giving it an edge Tony couldn't manage while jerking himself, it had always been something James seemed to do with the intent of caring for Tony's basic needs. Just like making sure he ate, that he was warm, that his feet were dry, and that he slept at least seven hours a night – wasn't even above draping his solid, immovable weight over Tony's legs to keep him in bed.

James would kiss his hair a lot, or give him a gentle peck on his cheek. Sometimes when he was checking Tony over in the evening he would brush kisses to unlikely spots on his body, like the inside of his elbow, the tips of his toes, an armpit... But it had never been like this.

Maybe James wasn't the only one who would have to practice for playing his part.

Tony, for his part, wouldn't mind.

* * *

Since the move back to Manhattan, James had learned to love lazy mornings.

Rays of golden sunlight were sneaking past a gap left between the heavy, red velvet drapes by the tall, narrow windows, trailing patterns over the smooth skin of Tony's back as the trees outside moved in the breeze. James followed the dapples of light with the tips of his metal fingers, chin propped in his flesh-and-blood hand, sprawled out carelessly over his side of the huge bed.

Soon after they had returned to New York, with James now disguised as Tony's (probably gold-digging) boyfriend, Tony had ordered the master bedroom in the mansion be completely redecorated. And then they had left behind his childhood bedroom and the stern gazes of Captain America above the bed, to move into the true lap of luxury.

To James, it made very little difference. He was happy about the extra bed space, but in the end it rarely mattered much because Tony did an excellent octopus impression as soon as he fell asleep, missing limb or no. But mornings like this, when he could spread out on the cool sheets, and admire the shape of his Mirror in the sun, then it was perfect.

It had taken a while for him to get used to only thinking of Tony as his Mirror. Back in the 30s and 40s, he would have called him his Omega. But when the term had come up in conversation, Tony had given him this long, real odd look, and then shaken his head dismissively. Because apparently no-one called it that anymore.

Tony had huffed, half annoyed. ”Don't tell me you believe in those oldfashioned ideas about second-borns, too? That we're weak and helpless, and in need of protection?”

Then it had been James's turn to look at _him_ strangely. ”No? Why would anyone think that? Any Ome-” He cut himself off at Tony's look. ”Any _second-born_ I've ever met has been a fighter you wouldn't want to cross. That's the only thing that makes sense.”

And Tony had looked pleased. At least for a moment. Then he had glanced at his stump, grown silent and brooding, and disappeared into the 'shop, like he always did when he got into that mood.

Right now, though, there was no mood. Just the sound of Tony's even breathing, and the little snuffling noises he sometimes made, when he was about to wake up. James just smiled, and kept chasing after the dots and lines of light dancing across his lower back. As he did that, however, he started to notice that the movements weren't quite what they should be. They were strong and steady, but there was a clear delay there, one he'd never experienced before.

By the time Tony finally woke up, sighed, rubbed his face into the pillow, and then turned to smile at James from over his shoulder, James was too busy scowling down at his lazy fingers to be enjoying the morning anymore.

”Okay”, Tony said, pushing up sitting. ”That's not a good face. What's wrong? Arm on the fritz?”

That had happened before, gears or plating acting up, and Tony had always fixed whatever was wrong, without much fuss. 

James shook his head, still tracking the movements of his hand as he wove a pattern through the air with his fingers. ”No, it's doing what I tell it to, just... slowly.”

”Ah.”

That tone made James look at Tony's carefully blank face instead. ”What?”

”Was afraid that would happen”, was all he said, turning and sliding off the bed. ”C'mon, let's get down to the 'shop and have a look.”

James hesitated for a few moments, watching Tony wriggle into a t-shirt with practiced ease, tugging jeans up his legs, barely fumbling with the button. He sat curled up on the bed, considering asking more questions, but he had a feeling he should let the answers come to him, in their own time. So instead he got up and pulled on his own pair of jeans, but left his chest bare as they slipped into shoes and walked to the workshop.

When they passed the hallway leading to the kitchen, James spotted the spindly shape of Jarvis in the doorway. He could tell by the way the morning light shifted in the man's gray hair that the old butler was watching them, but he knew he needn't worry about being seen like this, arm uncovered. Tony had explained at least part of the truth to Jarvis, so the butler knew they were Mirrors. From the looks in the man's eyes, both those directed at Tony, and those aimed at James himself, he knew that Jarvis would die rather than betray any of their secrets – and also that if he caught James hurting the boy in any way, there would be hell to pay.

In the 'shop, Tony gestured for him to sit on the edge of a table while he fetched his kit of tools small and delicate enough to suit the inner workings of the arm.

”See, this is the thing”, Tony murmured a little while later, and leaned forward.

U, the newest robot in the family, whirring curiously where he was positioned behind Tony's right shoulder, followed the movement.

James liked the 'bot. It was a much more advanced big brother of Tony's older robot, Dummy, who was made for helping out with smaller work on a tabletop. U was _huge_ in comparison, with a wheeled base placed on the floor, and a great three-pronged hook for both an hand and, it seemed, a head. Looking and listening with the thing as well as holding and lifting anything Tony asked it to, learning as it went.

Tony had always spoken to it the way anyone else might speak to a pet, and James had found it oddly impersonal that Tony only ever called the thing ”you”. But then James had spotted a ”U” scribbled on the robot's base in black marker, and suddenly it had felt a lot more like an actual name, even if it was two letters shorter.

Shifting his focus away from the watching piece of machinery, James looked down at where Tony was teasing the plates of his bicep apart.

”There's nothing wrong with the workings of your arm. It's in great condition, even if it's still heavier than I'd like. No, it's the power source in this thing that's the problem.” He looked up at James, concern clear in his dark eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down. ”It's going to run out, sooner rather than later, and as of right now? I have nothing to replace it with. In a couple of months you might have to carry this thing along in a sling, as useless extra weight.”

He stood back up straight, wrapping his arm around his middle the way he always did when he was insecure. Now, Tony was twenty and clearly grown into a man, starting to fill his lanky frame out with actual muscle, growing the beginnings of some kind of trimmed little beard that only surrounded his mouth and chin and of which he was very proud. But that gesture still made him look like the 14-year-old boy James remembered.

”You'll think something up, Tony”, he said, reaching out his right, free hand to run it soothingly up and down Tony's bicep. ”You always do.”

Tony didn't move away, but he wouldn't meet James's eyes. ”I already should have. I guessed this was coming, but I've... I didn't make it a priority. And I should have.” He finally looked up, from under his lashes. ”I'm sorry.”

”Hey, no, none of that.” He wrapped his hand around Tony's arm and dragged him close, in between his spread legs where they were hanging off the edge of the table he was sitting on. And just held him there, fingers running through the hair at the back of Tony's head, until he melted into the embrace and slung his arm around James's back in turn. ”You're busy, Tony. I know that. With the company, and the new designs.” He felt Tony stiffen, just a little. ”And I know you hate it”, he added, tipping his head to kiss the sleep-rumpled, brown mess of hair. ”But it's still important. You'll get to this.” He shifted his left arm. ”In time.”

Tony wasn't made to fill the world with weapons. He was _good_ at it, yeah, but good at it the same way James had been a skilled murderer – it was in his programming, what he'd been set up to do. And Tony's heart – his huge, warm, loving heart – wasn't in it.

The oddly guilty look Tony threw him before he looked away, made James think there was something else to it, too. But he didn't know what. 

Most likely they weren't meant to be keeping secrets from each other, being two halves of a whole and all, but it was hard to fault Tony for doing it when James knew that he was just as bad. Or, no, actually, he was worse.

There was so much he wasn't telling Tony about himself, lying by omission every single day of their life together, but he didn't know how to stop anymore.

From the very beginning he had kept silent because he truly didn't remember everything about himself. It came back in bits and pieces, more and more the stronger their bond had become, but at first he had hoarded those sparks of his past, wanted them for himself. Selfishly, perhaps, but he figured he'd earned some selfishness. As long as his secrets didn't somehow harm his Mirror – and he honestly couldn't see how they would – he had thought he had a right to them. At least a little while longer.

But then the image had cleared, and he had started reflecting more carefully on what he actually knew about himself, then and now. He wasn't the same, not really. So even if James was to tell Tony everything about Bucky Barnes, that wouldn't _mean_ anything, because they weren't the same person.

At first it bothered him that he couldn't say where the line was drawn. Where one had become the other. There had been steps. The first time he captured a man's head in the halo of his riflescope and blown his brains out, that had been a step. Watching that enemy soldier's body drop silently on the spot, like a puppet with its strings cut – a little bit of who he was had changed at that, long before Hydra and their needles.

For a long time, before the fall from the train, and certainly now, after, he had wondered how much whatever version of the serum they must have given him had really changed him. He had wanted to believe that it had changed everything. That the cold, brittle core of ice in his soul that had grown and spread since Steve came to set him free, had all been thanks to those needles. That who he was here and now, had been something they created and shoved into the place where _Bucky_ used to be.

He wasn't so certain anymore.

He remembere what Steve had been told before his own transformation - ”good becomes great, bad becomes worse” – and he wasn't sure where he fit on that scale. Because fuck knows, most people under the sun where not one or the other. James would like to believe that he'd been mostly good. Or tried to be. Like most people. But he knew there had been parts that were not so nice, and those were definitely still there.

James had wanted to believe that the blind, ruthless devotion to The Mission that had been instilled in him, turned him to the Soldier, was something new. Created. Added. But he knew now, that wasn't the truth of it.

Even Bucky Barnes had been prepared to step into any fight to protect the one he cared for. When he had picked up his sniper rifle to keep enemies off Steve's back, he had done it with a bloodthirsty kind of fierce _glee_ that wasn't entirely new.

His loyalty, once given, had always been to the bone, and if you got in his way, between him and his loved one, he had always been capable of breaking yours.

His heart had always been ruthless in love and war.

Hydra hadn't made him that way. They had just taken what was in him and twisted it. Perverted it. Stripped him of his own reasons and purpose and shoved theirs into the empty husk of his head.

James wasn't a good person. Definitely not great. But he wasn't twisted anymore either, and that was something.

Still, he didn't want to burden Tony with any of that. Not sweet, innocent Tony who wanted nothing more than to be good, _do good_ , and was prepared to work himself to the bone for the barest hint of appreciation.

Tony, who'd had Captain America as his guardian angel above his bed. Who knew good when he saw it, and deserved to have it.

If he knew that James had been there, had known Steve better than anyone else, that James had gone through much the same transformation – but with wildly different results – Tony would also know how completely different they had been as people. That if James's heart had been purer, he might have become what Steve had become. 

He could have been a hero, too, if he'd been better. He could have been who Peggy Carter as told Tony about as a kid, who Tony had wished to grow up to be. And he didn't want to see Tony's face when he found out how far from true all of that was now.

So now, all he had was silence.

Silence, and watching as Tony grew more distant and silent as well.

It was clear that he was working on something he wasn't talking about, and James didn't think it was the designs for Stark Industries. He quietly suspected that it was Tony's own arm that had become such a prority, but why it was a secret he had no idea. James had seen the old schematics grow and evolve over the years, after all, and known that one day Tony would turn his plans into reality. Because he always did.

Then, for the first time in a long time, he was allowed to keep Tony company in the 'shop. Instead of working though, Tony was rummaging through old boxes and drawers, pulling out stacks of dusty, yellowing paper, frayed notebooks, what looked like roughly shaped prototypes of things, and settling it in a huge heap on the floor. He then sat down, legs crossed like a tailor's, to sort through it all, with the help of his 'bots. U reaching clear over his head to lift and turn heavier objects, while Dummy was placed on the floor too, burying his head-hand in the mess and coming out with one knick-knack or another, beeping excitedly. They seemed to enjoy themselves, all three of them, so James was content to lean back on the couch they had carried down there, watching them work from over the top of a book he wasn't actually reading.

He made sure to let his left arm rest on his midriff, moving it as little as possible, to conserve what energy it had left.

After a while, Dummy gave a warbled, drawn out whoop, and started rolling back from the heap of paper on the floor, dragging what looked like a rolled-up poster or something, too long for him to handle in a better way.

Chuckling at his efforts, Tony turned around to wave him off. ”Whatcha got there, buddy?”

Dummy twirled around in a little victory dance, happy to have found something Tony approved of, and left his treasure, rolling off to dig for more.

Tony smiled after him, and then undid the knot of string holding the roll together. It was unwilling to unroll itself properly, so Tony used heavier things from his heap to hold the corners down until he could sit back and take it all in. James, who was still watching curiously, could see the moment he realized what he was looking at, turning stiff all along his spine, face going slack and blank. Then he twitched, as if James's gaze had suddenly burned him, and Tony's head whipped around to stare at him, all wide eyes.

When he didn't say anything, mouth just dropping open and then staying like that, James frowned at him. ”What?”

”This is it”, Tony said, sounding breathless, his face slowly coming to life again, mouth stretching out in a wide, slightly manic grin. ”This is what I was missing.”

Still frowning, James dropped the book on the couch and rolled off the seats to walk over, eyeing the blueprint spread out by Tony's knees on the floor. He crouched down when he got close enough to make some of it out – delicate, white lines painting a picture of something he had no idea what it was. Chunks of machinery on one side, what looked like a tube curving around the other. He spotted the words ”arc reactor” in a corner, along with Howard's name

”What am I looking at?”, he asked, although he was getting a rough idea from the word ”reactor” alone.

”A power source”, Tony grinned, confirming his suspicions. ”A self-sustaining one. With this in your arm, you could go forever.” His eyes got even more of that manic glow, before they dropped to flit all over the blue page in front of them. ”And not just the arm... This... this could run all of it...” His voice had dropped to a murmur at the last bit and James had no idea what he was on about anymore.

Instead, James focused more closely on the things he could make sense of on the blueprint. Then he scratched the back of his neck, confused. ”I thought you said my arm was too heavy?”

Tony blinked up at him at the apparent non sequitur. ”Huh?”

”Well if I'm reading this correctly, this thing is supposed to be... Twelve feet across?”

”Oh, yeah, no.” Tony waved his concerns away. ”This thing? Meant to run buildings. Cities. But the idea? It's exactly what I need. I'll just have to miniaturize it. Make sure the output is where it needs to be, and it should work, for both of us.”

”Both of us?” James raised an eyebrow, and then watched as Tony turned stiff again, first pale and then blushed, looking more flustered than James had ever seen him.

”Yeah. About that...” He cleared his throat, glanced away, and then carefully peeked at James from under his lashes. ”I needed a new power source for your arm, but also for the one I was building for myself.” Tony's eyes dropped again, as if he was ashamed, while his fingertips toyed with the closest corner of the blueprint. ”That's what I was doing. When I should have been figuring out... Well, _this_.” He tapped his index finger on the paper.

”I knew that, Tony.”

Tony jerked his head up. ”You did?”

James gave him a crooked smile. ”Not that hard to put those pieces together, punk. You stopped leaving schematics all over the bedroom, and you have been glaring at your right shoulder like you just caught it kicking a puppy, before hiding down here for days. Of course I knew.”

For a moment Tony just looked spooked, but then the corner of his mouth turned up in a faint smile in return. ”I guess I wasn't as subtle as I liked to imagine, huh?”

”Not really.” James hesitated, but then went all in, careful to keep his voice soft, not accusing. ”Can't quite figure out why it was such a secret, though?”

The smile dropped from Tony's face again, but at least he looked more thoughtful, than as if he was withdrawing from the question. ”Well, at first I just didn't want to make a big reveal out of it until I made it work, which I haven't, obviously. Then there was the problem with the power source, and after that I felt guilty for still working on my things instead of that. But... um... also?” He hesitated, fidgeted a little. ”It's not just an arm. Not anymore.”

”All right?” James twisted around, folding his legs up until he was sitting on the floor too, prepared to wait for an explanation.

”See, I couldn't figure out a way to attach it? I mean yours is...” He gestured to indicate James's left shoulder. ”It's part of you. Hooked up to nerves and muscles and I could never manage that. Even if I wasn't the subject myself. So I had to change it up.” Tony shrugged. ”First it was just a sort of harness. Then I had to make it more of a chest plate, because that thing got heavy. Then it sort of... turned to a sleeve for my left arm, too, to balance it out. And then my hips and legs needed reinforcement to carry all of it and, well, it all sort of happened organically but in the end -”

”You built a suit?”, James cut in, having realized where this was going. ”A suit of armour? Instead of an arm?”

”Maybe?” Tony gave him a shy smile. Then he shrugged again. ”Anyway, it was all more or less hypothetical. Until now. Because I didn't have the power to make it move anywhere but around the 'shop.”

James blinked. ”But you have it? The suit? You've... built one?”

”Just a prototype, so far, but... yeah? You... you wanna see?”

Even if he hadn't been so eager to protect and fan that flickering flame of hope in Tony's eyes, there was nothing that could have stopped James from grinning and blurting out a ”Fuck yes!”, because honestly? That sounded amazing.

And it was. 

It was a lot sleeker than James could have dared imagine, having visualized something like the boxy, awkward robots. But this suit, it was streamlined and almost as lean and lithe as Tony's body, in a polished metal sort of way. The right arm was the most detailed part, as James might have guessed. It was clearly modelled after James's arm, with the same kind of sliding plate movements, able to twist and turn and bend smoothly and naturally, delicately nimble fingers at the end of a hand just a little smaller than James's own.

When Tony raised that right arm, reached it out and let James slot their metal fingers together for the first time, he had to look down and blink away tears.

For the first time, they were truly mirror images of each other.

Overwhelmed by it all, it wasn't until Tony made the armour unfold and stepped back out, that James realized what this all really meant. What a suit of armour was for.

This wasn't a prosthesis. Not something Tony had built to make his everyday life easier – he did just fine with his 'bots. This was for going to war.

When Tony came closer to him, hopefully brittle smile in place, James couldn't help but reach out to tuck him tightly against his chest, close and safe, right arm around his shoulder, hand cupping the back of his head, left arm slower to move, and settling sluggishly around Tony's waist. He just held him, for a long time, feeling Tony's hand hesitantly slip around his back, fisting in his sweater, slightly stiff under James's not entirely even breathing.

James wished he could say something about what he was feeling, but all there was, was hitching breaths and trembling lips.

”You know I have to”, he finally heard Tony murmur into his neck, ghosting a kiss over the sensitive skin. ”Somewhere out there, I'm willing to bet there are still people looking for you. And I'm the second-born. Better me taking the hits than you.” _Because look how well that's turned out_ , Tony didn't add, but they both heard it.

With a long, unsteady sigh, James buried his face in Tony's hair and gave up. There was no argument to be made – it was the nature of the world, after all.

And if there was a damp patch in Tony's messy half-curls when they let go of each other, neither of them ever mentioned it.

* * *

Tony expected there to be consequences when he announced that Stark Industries was shutting down weapons manufacturing, that any active contracts would be filled, but no new ones would ever be signed, and that Research and Development was already closing down any projects they had been working on, and was now directing their efforts into clean energy and affordable electronics.

He was careful to point out that this was in no way about cut-backs or lay-offs – everyone employed by SI today would still have a job to go to tomorrow – but he still knew there would be reactions.

He had also expected it when he was asked what his father would have thought of his choice for the company. Tony just stood a little taller, eyes sweeping over the crowd.

”My father was born in 1917. He lived through a World War, worked on the Manhattan Project, and helped defeat the Nazis. My father was a hero who used his abilities and resources to improve the world he knew. I want to do the same thing. And I think he'd support that, knowing that the world I live in is not the same as his.” He took a breath in the sudden hush of the room. ”I have a moral obligation to leave that world a better place than I found it.”

The crowd exploded into waving hands and shouted questions, but Tony chose to duck out, nodding to his press representative to take over and close the conference down, while he left the building. He had answered all the questions he wanted to.

It was the first thing he did on Monday, June 3 1991, five days after turning 21 and officially taking over the reins at Stark Industries, and even if he knew there would be consequences, he couldn't regret doing it. Not even for a moment.

The second thing he did, was going back to the mansion, where he found James sprawled out on a rococo sofa in a corner of the library. His dark, torn jeans and the futuristic metal plates under his gray t-shirt made him look like he had dropped down from another world, his very existence clashing against the pale green-and-gold brocade. But it had become one of his favourite spots in the house. James spent hours on that uncomfortable piece of furniture, reading up on history and science.

James dropped the book he was reading onto his stomach and looked up at the sound of Tony stepping into the room. Some of his dark hair had swept down his forehead, and his steel-gray eyes were bright and curious. ”How'd it go?”

”Chaos”, Tony said with a weary smile, walking over to the sofa and slowly, carefully lowering himself down on top of James, pausing to let him drop the book on the floor and use his two strong hands to help Tony drape himself over James's legs and stomach without losing his balance. ”It'll take a lot of time, and work, and they'll fight me every step of the way, but I don't care. So, I guess it went all right?” He placed his palm flat on James's sternum, and rested his chin on the back of his hand, smiling at his Mirror.

James smiled back, reaching his right hand out to run it through Tony's styled hair, gentle fingers catching a bit where the product made the strands stick together. ”I'm proud of you, punk”, he said, sincere even through the smile. 

”Yeah?” Tony felt himself blush a bit at the vulnerable hope in his tone. Somehow, he never seemed to outgrow that reaction to praise. Clutching at it nervously, like it could be ripped from him at any moment, dangled out of reach just to torment him. Even though James had never done anything like that to him.

”Yeah.” James cupped the back of his head and pushed, gently dragging him closer until their faces were inches apart, and his metal arm was around the small of Tony's back, holding him tight. ”You did good,” he said, softly.

With a relieved exhale, Tony let himself melt into James's front, head dropping forward until their lips met, his hand slipping to James's shoulder for support as the kiss deepened, turned serious. They actually had done more kissing since that first time in the dressing room, sometimes just for the sweet intimacy of it, sometimes to show off their supposed relationship to the press when they were semi-public and being watched, but this was different. Heat and intent coiled behind James's lips in a way Tony hadn't felt before, tongue sweeping across Tony's bottom lip, eager and curious. With an inarticulate noise in his throat, Tony let his mouth drop open, allowing James inside. He still tasted faintly of that morning's coffee.

”James”, he murmured into the man's smoothly shaved jaw once they parted, just enough to breathe. ”Where did that come from?”

He felt his Mirror laugh softly against his ear, but he didn't get an answer. Instead James moved to push Tony up on his knees, reaching out a hand to undo Tony's suit pants, slipping careful fingers inside to feel him up through his underwear, where he was aleady going hard. With a pleased hum, James pushed his pants and underwear down, just enough to get him free of the layers of cloth, and then wriggled himself down to lie flat on the sofa, cupping Tony's now bare ass in his hands and urging him forward, until Tony was straddling the top of his ribcage on the wide seat.

To his embarrassment, it wasn't until James lifted his head off the brocade to lick up the underside of his dick, that Tony understood what was really happening. With a hitched breath he leaned back a little, enough to see James's face, combing his fingers back through his silky hair to get a better look at him. Tony was about to ask if this was something he really wanted to do, but the look glowing in those gray eyes made it unnessecary. This wasn't like James sleepily jerking him off so he would shut up and fall asleep, doing it with the same kind of care as when bringing Tony a sandwich in the 'shop, or dragging him off to take a much-needed shower after a work binge. The _want_ was clear all over James's face. Tony just couldn't figure out exactly...

”Why?”

James gave him a soft, just slightly sad smile. ”'Cause you're incredible, Tony. You've done so much for me, and now the world? You're just... amazing.”

This was taking a step away from what they had always been to each other, and Tony recognized that. Moving away from a more or less platonic bond would set things in motion, things that led to them Marking, and then there would be nowhere else for James to go. He would be forced to stay wih Tony, forever.

”I didn't...” Tony cut himself off with a choked moan when James got his lips back on him, gently mouthing at the tip of his cock. ”I didn't do it to earn... this? You know that, right?”

Letting go just long enough to answer him, James shot him a smirk. ”Good. 'Cause that's not why I'm doin' it.”

The next thing Tony knew, James was more or less swallowing him whole. With a startled shout that felt like it was punched right out of his gut, Tony pitched forward over James's head, only just catching himself on the armrest of the sofa. He shakily supported himself there with his elbow, head resting against his forearm, staring in disbelief at the dark head of hair moving between his still clothed thighs.

”Jesus Christ”, he groaned at an especially firm drag of suction, James's tongue curling around him. And at once he knew this was going to make him embarrass himself in no time at all. ”James, please... I'm gonna...”

And James just hummed around him, fitting his palms around the back of his thighs to drag him closer, and the second he felt himself bump the back of James's throat, Tony came. Whining at the shock of pleasure, unconsciously rolling his hips, fucking himself through it in the wet, welcoming heat of James's mouth. Until he was drained and limp and all he could do was let James manhandle him back down on top of him on the seats. Where Tony could settle in and murmur happy, mostly wordless nonsense into James's throat.

So, yes, Tony had expected there to be consequences. That just wasn't one of the expected ones.

Roughly a year later, Tony unveiled the first of his full-size arc reactors, built to run Stark Industries facilies in New York. And suddenly, when the entire East Coast wing of the company was self-sustaining in power, his change of course for SI wasn't such a joke anymore. Suddenly, everyone was curious about how he'd managed that, and suddenly, everyone was a lot more interested in his ideas for the next generation of cell phones he wanted to make, and the money he was investing in R&D for more advanced prosthetic limbs.

And that was fine, because he had expected to be made fun of. At first.

Another consequence he hadn't expected was the man waiting for him in his office, almost another year after the big reveal. It was late at night, the office building locked and empty except for Tony, who had stayed longer than expected at the R&D department. He wasn't even supposed to be there at this hour, and there was not supposed to be anyone else in the building either. Definitely not waiting for him in his office.

Tony stared at the tall man standing behind Tony's own desk, the lights from the city night outside reflecting more off the skin on his shaved head than off his long leather coat. It looked like he had a patch over his left eye. He was standing in something resembling a loose parade rest, hands behind his back.

He had a moment to consider how lucky this guy was that he had decided to sneak into Tony's office, instead of his home. James would have shortened him by a head in ten seconds flat.

”Mr. Stark.” The stranger had a deep, surprisingly soft and pleasant voice. 

”Mr. Tall, Dark and Trespassing”, Tony said, giving a tight smile that showed no teeth.

He got just a twitch of amusement in return. ”Nicholas Fury, SHIELD.” Tony could practically hear the capital letters of the acronym, and wasn't surprised when the man rattled off the entire thing: ”The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We've been following your work in self-sustaining energy, and we would like to have you on board.”

”That's sweet.” Tony shoved his hand into the pocket of his slacks, angling his right shoulder slightly away. Something about the man made him feel at a distinct physical disadvantage, and he was suddenly more aware of his missing limb than he'd been in years. ”But if you have been keeping up with my work, I'm sure you've noticed I'm sort of busy navigating my own ship here. I'm not exactly lost at sea, treading water.”

”True.” Fury's arms dropped down to hang by his sides as he took a few slow steps around the desk, closer to where Tony was standing, just inside the door. ”But I suspect you're a man who doesn't back down from a challenge. And we could offer... unique ones.” He stopped, eying Tony seriously. ”Think about it, and let me know when you've made a decision.” The tone of his voice making it clear he thought there was only one choice Tony could reasonably make.

When Tony made no move, and said nothing, Fury gave a curt little nod, and swept out of the room.

For a long time, Tony remained standing, rooted to the spot, staring at the view of Manhattan without really seeing it. Then he shook himself.

”Well, that was fucking weird”, he muttered as he slipped his hand from his pocket and walked over to his desk. He wasn't surprised to spot a card placed dead center on the surface of dark, polished wood. Creamy white, marked with the almost-circle of a stylized eagle in black. Tony picked it up, turned it over, and there was a phone number neatly printed in the bottom left corner. Nothing else.

After looking at the empty doorway for another minute, listening to the silence of the building, Tony turned on his computer and went to work.

SHIELD wasn't that hard to find for someone like Tony, but it was clear that they didn't keep much of their files digitally. Which might have been clever, since what he found gave him the distinct impression that they were an off the record kind of organization. Intelligence agency. Global security.

Tony pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, eyes narrow.

There was something about the whole thing that itched at him. Something forgotten stirring at the back of his mind. But he couldn't grasp it. So he decided to let it go, for now, but that he was going to keep an eye on this. Just as he was sure Fury was going to continue keeping his eye on Tony's business.

For some reason he couldn't formulate, even to himself, Tony didn't tell James about the strange meeting at the office. Mostly, he had a nebulous feeling that it would be nothing but trouble.

Or perhaps not that nebulous...

Along with the arc reactors Stark Industries worked on, Tony had of course kept working on the miniaturized version that, so far, was only meant for him and James. He had made good on his promise to change the dying power source in James's arm for a reactor, and while he was at it he had begun the project of gradually changing the inner workings of the metal limb for more lightweight materials. It was going well, and the lessened strain on James was visible even to the naked eye.

So far, his work had his Mirror's full approval.

The problem was the suit.

It was clear that James was in awe of the thing, but it was also obvious that he resented the fact that it existed. Or more accurately, that it would, at some point, be needed.

Which in no way stopped Tony from working on improving it. The prototype had evolved and changed a lot over the last two years, heavily influenced by Tony's ongoing work with James's arm. While the armour had at one point been mostly constructed out of bigger sheets of metal, except for the right arm, which he controlled with sensors attached to the muscles of his shoulder and what was left of his own arm, the construction had changed until all of it was intricately shaped out of smaller plates, interlocking to shape a lighter, and even sleeker suit. It fit him like a second skin now, moved much more smoothly with his body, and the power from the arc reactor he had fitted right over his heart meant it wasn't mostly muscle power moving it along anymore. That certainly helped.

It also folded in on itself like a puzzle, turning to something the size and shape of a small suitcase. Portable, although fairly heavy in that form, and swift to unfold and encase him when needed. And once he had coloured the thing an almost solid black, with just a few silvery accents, the matte finish of the outer plates on the case made it look not entirely unlike leather, from a distance. Tony could carry it with him practically anywhere, and no-one would suspect a thing.

James didn't like the implications of that, at all, but he seemed to accept the fact that danger was out there, and they would never know when it would come for them.

That was until Tony found the half-finished schematics for the Jericho missile among the still only half sorted documents that had belonged to his father – and the repulsor technology powering it.

When James came down to the 'shop one day in the spring of 1996 and found Tony with the basic rigging of a new gauntlet strapped to his arm, curiously aiming it at a wall, his mouth flattened out into a displeased line.

”Tony?”

”Don't worry”, he said, wiggling his fingers, loosening his wrist. ”Just a flight stabilizer. It's completely harmless.”

”Doesn't look -” James blinked. ”Wait, a _flight_ stabilizer? Are you seriously -”

Tony engaged the repulsor – and was immediately and violently pushed back by the force of it, tossed on the floor like a rag doll. He was gasping for breath and trying to blink away the flare of light burned into his retinas when James descended upon him, gray eyes wide and mouth open as he helped Tony to sit up, sliding careful fingers along his chest and ribs.

”Christ almighty...”, James breathed, relief and exasperation tangled in his tone, when he saw that Tony wasn't injured. ”What the hell was that, you punk?”

”Um... unexpected?” Tony raised his eyebrows and tried an innocent smile.

James huffed.

”I might need to tweak it a bit. And then make one for the right arm. And thrusters for the boots, obviously, I can't just have them on my hands. More juice in the boot ones, I think...” Tony trailed off, looking thoughtfully down at his feet as he spoke. Then he became aware of a tense silence, and looked up at James's displeased face. ”What?”

The look on James's face was incredulous, as if he couldn't believe he had to explain himself. ”You're making it _fly_ now? Really? How is that even necessary? Why would you...?” It looked like James was gearing up for a fight, shoulders set and jaw tight, but then he suddenly stopped, and deflated. Face coming down into his palms. ”Tony, please don't do this.” His voice was gravelly and far too wet.

”Oh.” Swallowing, suddenly feeling like an asshole, Tony used his thumb to press the switch that disengaged the sleeve prototype, shrugged it off and put it aside, so he could shuffle closer to James. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders, nuzzled into his short hair, smelling of the coconut shampoo that James liked to use. ”I'll be careful.”

There came a growl from behind his Mirror's mismatched hands. ”No, you won't. You are literally incapable of being careful with yourself.”

”I... Yeah, I guess. But I'll try. This is just... it's something I need to do.” Tony sighed into James's hair. ”I can't just sit around waiting for them to come for you. I have to prepare for every possibility.” He swallowed harder. ”I need to be able to protect the one thing in this world I can't – _can't_ – live without, and this is the only way. What am I without the suit, huh? Just a one-armed nerd who can't fight worth a damn.” He blinked away tears, and clung a little harder. ”I'm meant to protect us, and... I'm useless.”

James twisted, shrugged free of his grip – but just long enough to wrap his own arms around Tony in turn, forcefully tugging him into his lap. And at once Tony remembered that first disastrous meeting on a snow-covered December road. Just like then, he grasped at James's ribs, and buried his face by his clavicles. Feeling very small. But also safe.

”You're so far from useless, Tony. If nothing else, you've made sure my arm still works. And works _better_ than it did. You're protecting me by helping me protect myself.” James kissed his hair. ”If not for you, I'd still be a ghost. You're not useless – you're everything.”

Tony tried really hard to not let history repeat itself by bursting into tears in his Mirror's arms, just like he had as a kid. But in the end, history won.

* * *

James thought he could guess at the Army's reasoning when they sent James Rhodes to Tony in an attempt to coax him into starting up Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing all over again. They had probably figured that a familiar face, an old acquaintance, would be more effective than sending in a complete stranger. He could also guess, even before the day Rhodes showed up at the mansion for a private business lunch, that they were sorely mistaken.

He watched from halfway up the wide sweep of the stairs as Rhodes walked through the front door, Tony sauntering up to meet him in the entrance hall. At first they kept a distance, faces solemn, and then nodded at each other, curtly.

”Stark.”

”Rhodes.”

They managed to keep straight faces for about three seconds, then they cracked into wide grins, both moving forward at the same time, slamming into each other for a long, tight hug.

”You're such a trouble-maker, Tony, I swear”, Rhodes said fondly as they finally drifted apart, rubbing affectionately at Tony's neck. ”Should never have let you run off on your own.”

”Good thing I'm not on my own, then.” Still grinning, Tony turned to the stairs and reached his arm out, gesturing for James to come down and join them. ”James, come meet James.” Giggling like it was the best joke ever.

Of course James knew Rhodes from Tony's college days, although only from a distance, keeping a close eye on the two of them to make sure that Tony's former roommate wasn't any kind of threat. He'd quickly discovered that there was no need to worry, because apart from in James's own company, he'd never seen Tony so completely relaxed and at ease, content that he could simply be himself along with someone who appreciated him just the way he was.

But Rhodes had never been allowed to know James existed. To him, James was the boyfriend Tony had suddenly met after college and brought home with him after a supposed whirlwind romance. Judging by the frosty look in the man's eyes when James stopped by Tony's side, he had bought that story, hook, line, and sinker. Which was a good thing, because that meant the story had been good enough to fool even someone who knew Tony very well. On the other hand, now he obviously thought James was a man who had made his way into the life of a barely-legal kid, one who had no prior romantic experience what so ever, ostensibly to settle himself into a life of luxury at Tony's expense.

It was hard to blame him for the chill in his voice, as they exchanged greetings and a very brief handshake.

Tony seemed to have elected to entirely ignore the awkward stiffness between them, and was babbling happily at his friend as they made their way to the dining room, where Jarvis had prepared for their lunch. It was clear that he was delighted to see Rhodes again, no matter the reasons he had been sent here now, and no matter how suspiciously he eyed James. That genuine joy in itself eased the mood around the table after a while.

It could have stayed just like that, if not for James making a simple mistake.

As usual, they were careful to hide the fact that James left arm wasn't his own. It would draw unwanted attention, raising Hydra's suspicions, and if people knew they were Mirrors, it would give any other enemies an advantage as well. So he was wearing the latest version of the silicone sleeve Tony had made for his arm. This one was far better than the first ones, skintone matching his perfectly, shaped and painted with such detail that even the nails, the creases in the skin, and the dustings of hair looked completely real, at least from a moderate distance. Looking at it right up close would still give it away as a glove, and touching it would make anyone feel the unnaturally smooth surface, and the metal hardness of the arm underneath. But Tony's remaking of his arm's inner workings meant it now moved almost completely silently, so as long as he somewhat kept his left hand from sight, hidden under the table or shoved into a pocket, no-one would be any the wiser.

Until James went to pick up his utensils, moved his arm from his lap a bit carelessly, and thumped his wrist against the underside of the table. Hard. More than loudly enough to make sure the noise it made was impossible to mistake for flesh and bone hitting wood.

Silence settled over the table at once, Rhodes trailing off in the middle of a sentence, Tony's eyes going wide as they nervously flitted between James and Rhodes, James's own shoulders going tense as he waited for a reaction. Then Rhodes blinked, looked closer at his half-hidden arm, and when his eyes came up to James's face this time, the chill in his eyes was gone. Instead there was something like curiosity glinting there now.

”You know”, he said, unexpectedly relaxed and conversationally, ”I really was wondering why a gold-digger would still be hanging around this crazy bastard more than ten years later.”

”Hey! That's hurtful”, Tony piped up, scowling and visibly relaxing all at once. It was a weird look on him, but still made James's lips twitch up in a smile. The first one all day.

”Kinda true though”, James said, finally dragging his left arm all the way out from under the table, so he could reach across it to brush the tips of their fingers together.

”Asshole”, Tony smiled while he shifted his hand around to tangle their fingers up completely.

”So I take it there's a good reason you're hiding the fact that you found your Mirror.” Rhodes didn't quite make it a question, just picked up his glass of water as he eyed them both thoughtfully.

”Yeah”, Tony said softly, eyes dropping to their entwined hands.

”And it's one I really don't want to know.”

Tony just nodded to that, holding onto James's metal fingers a bit tighter.

”All right. Then this is staying off the record. Along with the fact that I haven't actually spent the last hour or so twisting your arm to get you back into the business of blowing shit up.”

The wide, relieved smile on Tony's face matched the warmth in James's chest perfectly. He was even happy when Rhodes hinted that they'd have to do this again. Probably regularly. To keep the Army off their backs.

When they had finished lunch, and Tony had slipped away to the restroom, Rhodes's eyes immediately shot to James's face.

”You two didn't actually meet after he left MIT, did you?”

There was no reason lying about it, so James just shook his head.

”I did wonder why he moved out. Guess I know, now.” Rhodes sighed, pushed his chair out from the table and got to his feet.

James did the same, not surprised when the man stepped closer to him, dark eyes serious.

”You're bonded, so there's no need for a shovel talk, I guess”, Rhodes started, and then glanced away, hands going to his hips before he met James's gaze again. ”Just be careful? Both of you, okay?”

At that, James couldn't hold back a tired chuckle. ”I'll try.”

With a wry smile, the fondly exasperated look in his eyes of anyone used to trying to make Tony take care of himself, Rhodes reached out to pat his shoulder. ”That's all you can do, man.”

* * *

And for a while after that, things were good. Until old shadows stirred in the corners.

It happened on a lazy afternoon when Tony was tinkering in the 'shop, while James watched from his usual seat on the couch. Talking casually about all the strange and sometimes terrible things Tony had found the blueprints for among his father's belongings, when Tony cut himself off with a weird little huff.

”You know? I also found some old, only sketched-out paperwork that seemed to be about turning over the entire ownership of Stark Industries to Obie.” Tony shook his head, eyes on his still working hand. ”I'm happy that never came to fruition, let me tell you. I don't want to think about what the company would have been like then.” James could see him scowl down at his screwdriver. ”I wonder if he knew?”

”He definitely didn't”, James found himself saying, before he thought to stop himself.

”What?” Tony raised his head to blink at him. ”How'd you know?”

The question made James realize the immensity of his mistake. He'd stepped into one of his own lies-by-omission, and now there was no way out that didn't mean dragging dirt all over the place. So he sighed, and gave in to the inevitable. ”He was the one who ordered the hit on you and your parents, to get you all out of his way. If he'd know the company was coming his way, anyway, he would never have taken the risk.”

While he spoke, Tony's hand stopped moving, screwdriver dropping to the table, and he stared at James with his mouth slightly open. Then he shook himself out of the surprise, to speak up. ”No... Shit, no, definitely not.” Tony looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he huffed in dark amusement. ”God, the man was an absolute idiot. He should have realized that Howard would never let me get my hand on SI, if there was any way he could stop it. Howard fucking _despised_ me. If Obie'd just had the patience to wait a few years, he'd have had everything.”

”Knew he was a greedy piece of shit”, James muttered down at his own hands, remembering the advice he'd sent Stane into the afterlife with. Then a shadow fell over him, and when he looked up, Tony was standing right in front of him by the couch, eyes intent. ”What?”

”So it was you?” He didn't sound angry, or even upset. Just matter-of-fact. ”I did wonder, but I wasn't sure.”

James considered lying, but only for a moment. There was enough of that. ”He hurt you”, he said, reaching out to catch the backs of Tony's thighs, dragging him closer and then down to straddle James's lap, where he could feel him, heavy and solid and warm and _alive_. ”He almost made me _kill_ you. I couldn't...” With a shudder, he buried his face by Tony's neck, breathing in his scent.

Hushing him, Tony wrapped his arm around the back of his neck, and kissed the top of his head. Like a benediction. ”Hey... James...”

He carefully tilted his head back, to catch Tony's dark, serious eyes. 

”I don't blame you.” Tony kissed him again. This time on the tip of his nose, making his lips twitch up in a faint smile despite everything. ”If I could, I would have done the same.”

James highly doubted that Tony would have done exactly the same things he had done to Stane, but then, Tony would never know the whole truth. The sentiment was honest enough, though, and James believed him. Tony wasn't prone to anger or violence, wasn't mean-spirited or cruel, but James was certain that to protect his own, there were no lenghts he wouldn't go to.

He was James's own Mirror, after all. Body and soul.

* * *

Time passed.

Tony worked on the reactors, on affordable cell phones, on getting into medical equipment, setting up programs that would help war veterans get free access to the prosthetics he was developing. While claiming the last part was entirely selfish, since they were just ”testing out the prototypes for him”.

James knew it was bullshit.

He knew Tony was also tinkering with his suit every chance he got, but for a while he almost forgot about it even so. Until the day when they were watching a movie, and it was interrupted by the news. Where a few men and a woman, all in military-looking outfits, were scaling a business tower in Manhattan, breaking in, taking hostages. A few seconds of lucky, zoomed in footage from a news helicopter caught a moment when one of the men's skin seemed to be glowing, like he had lava running sluggishly under his cracking skin.

They were both frozen, staring wordlessly, until another camera panned over the groups of policemen and more heavily armed and armoured teams gather in the street below, a tall, black man in a leather coat seeming to be pointing out their points of attack, even though James couldn't tell who he was, to have that authority. At that point, Tony shot up out of his seat, fist clenched by his side. He was about to turn, had just started shifting his weight, when James snatched up his wrist.

”You better not be going off to do what I think, punk.”

Tony turned to glare at him, jaw set stubbornly. ”I have to, James.”

”There is an army's worth of people out there handling it.”

With a quick glance at the screen, Tony ground his teeth and then shook his head. ”They're trying, but I don't trust them to do it.” His mouth softened a bit, his eyes going pleading. ”I _have_ to do it. Just trust me? Contrary to popular belief, I do actually know what I'm doing.”

James looked at his determined face, then at the screen where the oddly glowing people had resorted to throwing burning office wreckage down at the street. He sighed. ”Fine.” Then turned to point at Tony's fiercely grinning face. ”But next time, I'm going with you.”

”Square deal.” He at least took the time to press a hard kiss to James's cheek before he dashed out of the room.

Staying glued to his seat in front of the screen, James saw Tony arrive on the scene like an avenging angel. The armour in action, out in the world, was something else entirely, compared to test flights in the workshop. Light was glinting off the silvery details, almost swallowed up by the matte finish of the black plates, blue burning from chest and palms and eyes, heated gold under the soles of his boots.

He moved like a swallow in the air, dipping and twisting and turning, at times faster than the eye could follow.

James had thought he was in awe of the armour before, but that was nothing compared to this. And nothing compared to how in awe he was of _Tony_. Because that suit might be a masterpiece, but Tony had built it with his own hand, his own brilliance, and without him in it, it would be nothing.

Obviously, James wasn't the only one to notice the unexpected help at the scene, and the headlines were quick to follow, growing more and more bold and fantastical over the following weeks, when no-one stepped up to take credit for the heroics.

”Iron Man?” James lowered the newspaper he was reading to aim a raised eyebrow at Tony, who was across the diningroom table, feet casually crossed on top of the polished surface, drinking deeply from a cup of coffee while eyeing the paper spread across his thighs.

Tony shot him a grin. ”Nice, huh? I mean it's not technically accurate. It's a gold-titanium alloy, not iron. But I like the sound of it. The mental imagery. It fits.”

They didn't say it out loud then, but they both knew that Tony would be going out in the suit again. It was just a matter of time. At least Tony didn't forget his promise to bring James along the next time it would happen, and it was clear that he wouldn't let James go out unprepared when the day came.

He was tucked against James's chest in bed one night, when he first brought it up.

”I could make you a suit too, you know.” It wasn't quite a question, more of an offer than a statement.

”I know.” James kissed his hair, wrapping his arms a little tighter around him. ”But I don't think it would be right for me. For the way I want to be able to move.”

Tony's goatee scratched at his chest with his tiny nod. ”That's fair. I'll want to make you something, though. Arm and armour you at least a bit. And also... I mean...” He shifted back enough to tip his head backwards, and look up at James with searching, dark eyes. ”You get that the suit isn't just armour, right?”

”It's a disguise”, James agreed, folding his right arm up under his head, moving his metal thumb in fanning motions over Tony's lower ribs.

”Yeah. I could have just built it for _me_ , you know. The way I am. The other arm, it's not really necessary. I could have made it work anyway. But people would have taken one look at it and said 'hey, isn't that Tony Stark?', and then I'd be screwed.”

”And I'll need a mask, too.”

”You will. And I remember...” He swallowed, and his mouth thinned out with concern.

No need to ask what he remembered.

”Tony”, he murmured, pulling him back flush against his chest, speaking into his hair. ”Hydra putting their muzzle on me and turning me into an attack dog isn't the same thing as you giving me a mask so I can watch your back in the field. At all. That's something I _want_. Alright?”

He could feel Tony sigh, relaxing on the exhale, melting into him. ”Alright”, Tony said, muffled, before pressing a kiss to his pectoral. ”Good to know.”

As it were, James ended up outfitted with something more like a helmet than a mask, hiding and protecting his hair and head as well as his face, along with giving him audio communications with Tony while in the field, as well as a simpler version of the HUD in Tony's suit. The software and interface Tony used helped him with everything from basic movements of the suit, the more complex movements of the mechanical arm, flight, targeting, and a lot more. Five seconds in that barrage of information made James's head spin, but he liked the basic idea, and was happy to let Tony experiment until they found a version he was happier with.

The rest of his outfit ended up faintly similar to what he'd worn as the Winter Soldier, but mostly because it was still black, with a military practicality to it. Combat boots, pants that were loose-fitting enough that he could move unhindered, and still in a reinforced fabric. Tony sketched out a jacket for him, too, cut at the waist, with a high collar, and stuffed full of body armour Tony was adamant he wore.

James looked at it for a long time when Tony showed him, and then asked, ”Can it be blue?”

Tony blinked, looking surprised. ”Blue?”

”Dark blue.” James looked down at the rough sketch again, seeing another soldier version of himself, from another time. A version that had been all him.

It seemed like Tony wanted to ask questions, but then he snapped his mouth shut, and nodded. ”Blue it is.”

When battle came, they'd be ready.

* * *

As it turned out, the kind of battle James found himself in next when it came to Tony, wasn't the kind you can physically arm yourself for.

It started when he came in to Tony's office building in Manhattan, picking him up for another ”business lunch” with Rhodes, and found the door to Tony's room wide open. He stopped in the doorway, and then just stared.

Tony was sitting behind his desk, his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the sleeve of his shirt pushed up halfway to his elbow, his hand resting on a pile of papers. By his side was a woman James had never seen around here before. Not that he came in to the office a lot, but he knew he would have remembered _her_. She wasn't tall, but the heels of her black pumps and the matching dress made her look it. The lines of her dress were tailored to fit elegantly around her perfect figure, neckline dipping just deep enough to show a hint of her creamy cleavage, without it turning cheap. Her hair was a head-turning shade of dark red, and her face was cat-like, porcelaine doll flawless. When she looked up, apparently having heard him arrive, he could see the green of her eyes even from this distance.

The woman gave him a tiny hint of a nod, then leaned in a little deeper over the desk, one of her slim hands moving over Tony's bare arm, perfectly manicured nails tapping gently at the face of his wristwatch, and the back of his wrist itself. Making Tony lift his head and smile right up at her.

”Your company for lunch is here, Mr. Stark.” She had a smoky, suggestive voice that instantly set James's teeth on edge.

Tony didn't seem to react to it, though. He just jerked his head around, spotted James at the door, and his face split into a wide, beaming smile.

”So it has.” He tugged his arm off the desk, and James knew he was dropping it down between his knees so he could get the sleeve of his shirt back into place. Tony used a kind of fake cuff links with an elastic band, which held his cuff together, but let him push his sleeve up if he wanted to, on his own. ”We'll get back to this later, Miss Rushman.”

She gathered up the papers, slipped past James out the door with a curt nod, and was gone.

Moments later Tony was there, shoving his suit jacket into James's chest, and pushing up on his toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

”Help me get this on, would you? Rhodey's probably already there.”

And he didn't have the time to think about it any more right then.

For whatever reason, though, he started going to see Tony in the office a lot more often over the next few weeks. He made up excuses and reasons, or just spontaneously dropped by to drag Tony off to lunch.

The redhead was always there. No matter what time or day he came by, she was there, sticking like a tick to Tony's side.

On the surface it wasn't that odd.

Her name was Natalie Rushman, Tony told him, and she was his new PA, promoted up from Legal. Helped him with paperwork and planning, made sure he was where he should be on time, and all the million other things Tony preferred not to keep in his own head, so he could make room for his actual work. And she seemed to be doing a great job.

She also never seemed to be able to keep her hands completely to herself, and something in the way she looked at Tony rubbed James entirely the wrong way.

He couldn't decide if it was hungry or calculating. 

Maybe it was both.

It didn't matter. He hated it either way.

James reached a breaking point when he came in one day and Tony was standing in the middle of the floor of his own office, arm around Natalie's lower back as he leaned in to see over her shoulder, while she flipped through a few papers. Sure, his arm might have been sort of _hovering_ there, not really touching her, but it still made something snap.

He raised his right hand and rapped his knuckles sharply against the door jamb, making them both raise their heads and turn toward him. Natalie's greeting smile was as sparse and tight as usual, while Tony's was wide and guileless. And James wanted to take that to heart, he really did, but his heart felt three sizes too small lately, petty and greedy, and it wouldn't quite let him believe anything good anymore.

”Can I talk to you?” His voice felt weird and he cleared his throat, added what was supposed to be a smile. ”Alone?”

The way Tony aimed a raised eyebrow at Natalie before he answered, as if needing her permission, was just too much. Thankfully she simply nodded and left, closing the door as she passed through, or he didn't know what he would have done.

As it was, he quickly closed the blinds on the narrow windows on both sides of the door, and then turned to face Tony, who was watching him with some curiousity now.

”Hey”, he said when James started walking across the room, ”what's up?”

James didn't answer. He just bodily backed Tony up against the front of the desk, hands planted solidly on his Mirror's hips, pressing him against the edge of it until his ass was halfway shuffled onto the polished surface. He slotted himself in between Tony's knees, close enough to tower over him a bit.

Warm, brown eyes flicked quickly between his own. It was clear that Tony felt that something was off, and for a moment, James expected to be pushed back. But then he felt Tony's arm wrap low around his back, and his head tipped back far enough that the soft curls at the nape of his neck touched his sharp, white collar. And James wasn't slow to take the invitation, locking their lips together, rolling his hips slightly into the juncture of Tony's legs as he worked kisses down his jaw, to his neck, breathing in the scent of aftershave off Tony's skin and clothes.

He felt Tony's breath hitch when he nipped at the smooth skin just above the collar, his fingers digging into James's hip.

”You know”, he murmured into the quivering line of Tony's throat, ”I'd have expected you to Mark us by now.”

It was nothing but the truth, to be fair. Tony har turned thirty a few months ago, meaning that he had spent more of his life with James, now, than he had without him, before. It was years since Tony had become an adult, and since any doubt about their bond being platonic or not had been erased. James would have thought Tony would have wanted to Mark them almost a decade ago. But he had never even hinted at it.

Though, to be perfectly honest, curiosity about Tony's reasons for holding off on the Marking wasn't the only reason he brought it up right here, right now.

Judging by the way Tony's hand shifted to fist into the back of his shirt, dragging him back enough to meet his eyes, Tony knew as much. But there wasn't really any suspicion in his eyes now, though they were dark with something else. Something that twisted his plush lips in an unpleasant way.

”Well, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't do it while making out with you in my office”, he said, voice too flat.

That brought James up short, and he straightened, shifting away enough that he was no longer indecently pressed into Tony's crotch. He blinked, startled, the beginnings of hurt clenching his heart. ”You don't... want to?” That possibility had actually never occurred to him. He'd assumed Tony had his reasons for waiting. He'd never thought it was an idea Tony had considered, and then discarded.

The memory of Tony smiling at Natalie while her neat nails tapped against his watch and wrist suddenly smarted even _more_ than it had previously.

Tony didn't want to Mark them, because he wanted someone else.

The confirmation of his jealousy was far more devastating than any suspicions could have prepared him for. Even so, he made himself swallow down the bile of it and force on something he meant to be a smile, but felt more like the slash of a knife across his face.

”That's fine.” His voice sounded like someone else's, the pitch all wrong in his ears.

He started taking another step back away, but before he could do more than shift his weight onto one foot to move the other, Tony's hand clamped down on his forearm, stopping him. When James looked up, his face had turned concerned.

”James”, he said, softly. ”I didn't mean it like that.”

That probably meant at least some of what he felt must have shown on his face. James tried again with the smile. Tugging the corners of his mouth higher didn't actually seem to make it more sincere, though. Just more painful. ”Some warnin' would'a been nice, you know?”

Something like guilt flashed across Tony's face. His fingers flexed around James's arm, sliding down to his wrist. ”You never brought it up”, he started, hesitantly. ”And I didn't know how to. So.” Tony glanced away, cleared his throat, and then looked back. ”I've thought about it. A lot. Since that time after the press conference.”

James knew what he meant. The library, that green-and-gold sofa, the salty mineral taste of Tony in the back of his throat.

”And trust me”, Tony continued, ”it's not that I _don't want to_ , because I've always wanted to, I think. Even when I was just a kid and didn't even know enough to realize that I did.”

The memory of fourteen-year-old Tony's teeth pressing into his pectoral made James nod. He'd though the same, back then.

”But, James, I can't do that to you.”

He blinked. ”What?”

”I'd take away any other choice from you, forever, and that's just not fair.” Tony looked down again, this time it seemed to be to focus on his own hand wrapped around James's wrist. ”It's not right.”

It took a few moments for James to process this frankly _ridiculous_ statement. Then he raised his left hand and cupped it around the side of Tony's jaw, urged his head up, until he could see his huge, shining, wet eyes. ”That's not how it works, Tony. You can't take anything away from me that I'm offering to give you. And I don't want another choice, as long as I live.”

”You don't -”

He slipped his thumb down to cover Tony's lips, shutting him up. ”Yeah, I _do_ know that, actually. Even if I for some reason wanted to, I couldn't ever leave you. And I really don't. Even if every single cell in my body didn't love its counterpart in yours, _I_ would still love _you_ , too. Choose to love you. So don't Mark us, if you're not sure about it, but as far as I'm concerned, we already are marked.”

Slowly, gently, he moved his hand down from Tony's face to his right shoulder, sliding it over the smooth wool of his suit to delicately cup the stump of his arm, the cloth neatly tailored to fit right around it. Tony had never believed in hiding his missing limb inside empty sleeves.

”I marked us a long time ago, before you were even born and was around to have a say in it. And in a far worse way than a bite, too.”

Tony glanced at his hand, and then met his eyes again. Still half-sitting on the edge of the desk, and the height difference between them more marked than usual. ”You didn't really have a say in that either.”

”I had a choice.”

”Maybe. But it's not like you did it _to_ me. To us. It was an accident. And I'm not sorry about it.” Something stubborn settled in the jut of his jaw. ”It was a shitty thing to have happen to you, but it ended up getting you where you needed to be. It got you to _me_. In less than ideal circumstances, yeah, but if it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else, and then I'd be dead. I don't miss the arm, 'cause unlike you, I never had it. But I'd miss you.”

”You never had me, either”, James pointed out, against better judgement.

”That's not the same, and you know it.”

James winced, nodded, and then stepped closer again, wrapping his arm around the back of Tony's shoulders instead. ”I can't be sorry either. Not really. I wish it could have worked out another way, for both of us, but I can't regret it, not when it got me to you. If I could go back and do over, I'd still get on that train. It'd be worth it.”

He felt Tony let go of his wrist and curl his arm around his lower back again. So he put his right arm around Tony too, and for a while they stayed like that, embracing, settling. Then Tony did push him back gently, aiming a curious look at him.

”So, what really brought this on? You're not usually this... grabby, in public.”

”We're nicely hidden away in your office”, James tried to deflect, knowing it was useless.

”Don't get me wrong”, Tony went on, as if his Mirror hadn't said a word, ”I'm a fan. Please never stop. But it feels like something made you do it?”

”No?” But there was no conviction in it, and he felt his eyes flicker over his shoulder to the closed door and the shuttered blinds of the windows.

”Uh-huh.” Tony's eyes were narrow, and slightly amused, when he looked down again. ”No reason at all to start coming by my office more often lately? Being casually affectionate? Making out in here, bringing up the lack of me Marking us? No reason what so ever.”

”Not that I can think of, no.”

”Not even a redheaded, green-eyed, very flirtatious reason?”

”Why would I even -” But he felt the part-angry, part-embarrassed heat in his cheeks and wasn't surprised when Tony chuckled, making him stop with a shake of his head.

”James, trust me, she's about as interested in me as I am in Jarvis's oatmeal porridge.”

He frowned. ”Then what's all the touchy-feely bit about?”

”Work.”

”I doubt you're payin' her to do that.”

” _I'm_ not, that's for damn sure. But someone else is. She's planted here to spy on me.” He could see on Tony's face that he came to a decision about something right then. ”She's from a secret, not-quite-government organization called SHIELD. They contacted me about a year after the first arc reactor came online, wanted me to work with them. I said no, and they've kept a close eye on me ever since. I spotted them at that hostage situation with the glowing people, so I knew I had to get involved. I don't trust them.”

James blinked. Then blinked again. ”And you never _told_ me? Any of that? Why?”

”Why did you never tell me your accident involved a train?”, Tony shot back.

His teeth clicked together and he scowled at his Mirror, who was staring back, completely deadpan. But James couldn't say anything. He had no idea what he would or should say.

”Right”, Tony sighed, but let it go and went on. ”Anyway. SHIELD sent Natasha to spy on me not too long after that.”

”I thought her name was Natalie.”

”Her real name, or as real as I've found, is Natasha Romanoff. Her background is pretty much a redacted blank, but what little I have seen is... not exactly bedtime stories. I'm doing this thing where I'm keeping my enemies close, letting her do what she does best, so she won't suspect I'm on to her.”

James felt his face pinch into a worried frown. ”What the hell is this SHIELD, anyway?”

”C'mon.” Tony pushed away from the desk at last, and walked around it with a gesture for him to follow. ”I'll show you. They don't know, but I've been keeping a close eye on them as well, for years. Their security has gotten a lot better, I'll give them that, but I had already gotten my digital claws into them so now they're not getting rid of me that easily.”

He couldn't have followed what Tony did on his computer if his life had depended on it, but soon, they were in what looked like personnel files, mapping out a structure.

”So, this is SHIELD. They name themselves as an intelligence agency, protecting the world on a global scale. But they have fingers in a lot of pies, and I'm not convinced those fingers are always washed...”

As James watched, he scrolled through lists and pictures, pointing out people he had figured out more about, what they did, and it didn't sound very good. Too many spies and assassins and underhanded dealings.

Suddenly, James turned stiff where he was leaning in behind Tony, muscles like stone, breath hitching before it cut off entirely, while his heart was beating erratically against Tony's shoulder blades.

”Stop”, he hissed, leaning even closer, making Tony lean almost into the screen in turn. ”Back, back, no, stop, there, _that_...” His index finger came up, stabbing at the information scrolling by. ”Who the fuck is _that_?”

Tony squinted at the thumbnail portrait and the name below it, followed by titles. Many of them. He clicked the portrait and together they stared at an older man in an impeccable suit, face serious under grayish blond hair. ”Alexander Pierce”, he read out, and stopped, because he felt the shudder passing through the body behind him. ”James...”

A half-choked grunt squeezed out of his chest. ”Him. I remember him, from... Before. He... He gave me orders. Many.” It was like he'd nearly lost his grip on simple speech. ”How high is he in this thing?”

Swollowing audibly, Tony took in the titles, the ranks. ”Director. He's pretty much the big one. Runs the show over there as far as I can tell. Christ, James.” He looked over his shoulder, eyes huge. ”If he's Hydra, then...”

”Then there's no telling how many of them are. Could be all of them.”

Tony stared at him, and then turned back to the screen, pointing at another picture. Bald, black man, patch over one eye. James thought he was somehow faintly familiar. Not the face, but some vague impression he couldn't place. ”That's the man who came to see me. Fury. He's just a peg below Pierce, one of the agents with the highest security clearance. If I had agreed, if I had gone with his suggestion...”

He didn't have to finish. James felt his hand go clammy at the thought of how close they had come. How nearly Tony had handed himself, and by extension James, right into Hydra's claws. Without ever knowing.

”Well, that answers that, then”, Tony muttered. ”This is definitely not the kind of organization you join.”

”No”, James growled by his ear. ”It's the kind you burn.”


	3. 2002–2011

_Edwin Jarvis_   
_March 9, 1921 – June 14, 2002_

Tony had stared at the letters and numbers on the headstone for so long now that he thought he'd always see them when he closed his eyes. He wondered if he should have put any other words on there, but he hadn't found anything that felt like it would be enough, so he'd decided to leave it.

There weren't many flowers on the new grave. Except for Tony, Jarvis didn't seem to have had many people in his life who he cared for, or cared for him, and were still around. So there was only the huge arrangement Tony had ordered for the coffin, the yellow roses James had brought to place on the stone, because they had always been Jarvis's favourites. And some white calla lilies left by someone who had printed the initials ”M.C.” as their only signature on the card.

Jarvis had a wife once, which Tony had found out only after the old man had already passed away. Ana. She had died in childbirth years before Tony was born. He suspected that much of the care and attention Jarvis had given him, was affection that had been meant for the family he'd never had. Selfishly, Tony was still happy to have gotten it. He had no idea who he would have been today without it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the _hiss-clink_ of a beer bottle being opened, and turned to face James, who handed him the still cold drink. They were seated on a mossy stone bench by a graveyard path across from the headstone, low afternoon sun warming their backs, still in funeral-black suit jackets. Between them on the stone was a plastic box containing the last cookies Jarvis ever baked for them. Tony had found them hidden in the back of the freezer.

James reached out his own bottle toward him, and Tony clinked the neck of his against it. They silently raised their bottles to the headstone, and drank the wordless toast.

After just as quietly breaking one of the cookies in half, so they could share it, Tony sighed and swallowed the sweetness down with another sip of beer. The cookies were just slightly freezer-stale.

”I'm sick of funerals.”

James made a small noise of agreement.

Tony knew this wouldn't be his last, though. They never talked about it, but he knew both of them had seen by now that they didn't actually seem to age noticeably. James could still pass for 25 when he shaved clean. And Tony couldn't find any sign that he'd aged since he took over the company, really. It seemed like he passed through puberty, reached the point where he stopped growing, and then his body was just... put on hold.

”I don't want to live in the house anymore.” It would feel like a tomb now that Jarvis was gone. Even if he hadn't worked for over a year before the cancer won, Tony had somewhere in the back of his mind always kept clinging to the hope that the old butler would be back. Not to work, obviously, but to live. His brain just couldn't accept any alternative. But now he had to face reality, and he didn't like it.

James hummed around a swallow of beer. ”Then don't. You'll figure something else out. You always do.”

And as happened once in a while, James was right. Tony did figure it out.

He tore the office building on Park Avenue down to the ground and based a new building on the latest iteration of the arc reactor, buried in the ground below the actual tower he designed to be run by it. But while he spent enough money to make the Tower a truly eye-catching piece of glass and steel, crowning it in his own name, just to draw even more eyes, Tony's own focus was firmly on what he had found in the ground, while making room for his reactor. Something he knew he could have a lot of use for. And this time, he decided not to keep secrets from his mate, for once. At least not forever... He still waited until winter 2003, when Stark Tower was already up and running, to bring James down into the underground levels, showing off the best part of the building.

James blinked, squinted, and then turned around to take it all in, from floor to ceiling. ”This looks like an old subway tunnel.”

”At one point, it was. Or at least, that's what they pretended it was supposed to be when they built it. It's not on any map, though, and it actually goes below all the tunnels in use.”

Now, James aimed those narrowed eyes at him. ”You already followed it to find out where it goes, didn't you?”

”Might have.” Tony smiled a bit sheepishly. ”I don't like to surprise you with things until they aren't also surprises for me.”

”Noticed as much, punk”, James muttered. ”You gonna tell me, or what?”

Tony waved him over to a screen hidden in a corner by the old tracks, summoning up a map. ”Here.” Pointing at a blue point marking a spot in New Jersey, south of Philadelphia, almost down by the Delaware Bay.

”That's the middle of a whole lot of nothing.”

”Now it is. Back when the tunnel was built, between the late 30s and early 40s, it was a military base, Camp Lehigh. It's abandoned and completely empty, just falling-down old buildings in the middle of a huge, fenced-in plot of land.”

There came no words from James at that, and when Tony glanced over at him, his face had turned an unhealthy, gray shade.

He frowned, confused and concerned all at once. ”You okay?”

Visibly shaking himself out of it, James gave him a pale excuse for a smile. ”Fine.”

”Uh-huh. Sure.” He wasn't buying it, even for a second, but he knew pushing for answers was a lost cause, so he turned back to pointing at the screen. ”Anyway. I did some research on it, and it so happens that I own it.”

”You what?” James turned from ashen shock to blinking incredulity in seconds.

”Dear old dad seems to have had his fingers pretty deep into something out there. I haven't been able to figure out what, exactly, but then he did a lot of questionable shit during the war and I suspect it has something to do with that. Apparently he dumped enough funds into whatever it was, that he ended up owning the place when the military closed down shop and left. So, now it's mine.”

”And what are we going to use it for?” Ah, James knew him so well.

”Base of operations”, he said. ”If we're going to take down SHIELD, we need to do it the hard way. And Iron Man can't be seen taking off from the Tower every time we fly out, carrying you bridal style. People will talk.”

”You ain't carryin' me bridal style from _anywhere_ , Tony.”

”Don't knock it 'til you try it.” Tony grinned, but James was starting to look slightly too annoyed, so he forced himself serious. ”Listen. I can fix up these old tracks, build something to run on it that'll make an express train look like a snail out for a Sunday stroll. We'll be in Jersey in minutes. If I build something to fly us both, cover it in stealth plates, no-one will see us coming or going. And even if they get a glimpse? Well, they won't connect it to us anytime soon.”

There was a long silence while James looked around them, studied the map, and then nodded slowly. ”It'll take years.”

”You saying we don't have time?” There was just a hint of sharpness in his tone.

The sad, bordering on guilty look in James's eyes clearly said he had picked up on it. ”So, when do we start?”

And honestly, there was no reason not to get to work right away. They might have time, but that was no excuse to waste it.

Apart from working on the new base, Tony was tinkering with a new aircraft he had taken to calling the quinjet, since it seemed to be getting five different thrusters in the end. It was a masterpiece. Not only would it have stealth technology, but the aircraft would also be small, fast, and insanely maneuverable, including the ability to land and take off vertically. Helpful when you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself. Tony made it light, skipped the heavy armouring, and only gave it lighter weapons as a last resort. If they were discovered, escape was always the better option.

He also never stopped working on improving his suit, and James's arm. They needed both, after all, because even if they weren't ready to take on SHIELD properly, they did head out now and then when things happened around the city that drew their attention. They always spotted agents sneaking around, but they had no real trouble avoiding them. Even though it was clear that SHIELD had noticed them, and that their interest was mounting. Any mention in the media of Iron Man and his crack shot sidekick now tended to be more worried than excited, requests being made that the public contact the authorities if they knew anything about the vigilantes.

Tony was sure the ”authorities” in question was not the NYPD. Or even the FBI. Neither of them would ever have heard of the people taking the calls that might come in.

He wasn't too worried, though. They were careful.

Even so, Tony decided to secure his own house a bit better.

Without making a big deal out of it, he let Natalie Rushman go as his PA, and allowed her to graciously quit SI instead of ”going back to Legal”. She could have kicked up a fuss, but didn't. If it was because she had suspicions or because she didn't want to draw any attention to herself was hard to tell.

To replace her, Tony hired a woman from a much lower, inconspicuous position in his administration, who he was certain had no connections to any other organization what so ever.

James teased him that people would think he had a thing for redheads, but Tony didn't care. Pepper Potts was a godsend and suddenly, he realized just how much pressure having Natasha around had put on him, always having to think twice about everything he did and said, and then twice again. Now he could channel even more time and energy into digging up the digital dirt on SHIELD, while he waited for the hardware to be done.

Their security was improving by leaps and bounds, but since he had been too buried in their files to begin with, they hadn't been able to lock him out. They were learning to keep too senstive information offline, though, and Tony had to work harder for his guesses at what they were doing these days. But that didn't mean he couldn't find things that fucked up his world view entirely.

Like the day he found the deeply hidden file packet with information about the origins of the organization, and discovered his father's name in there. More than once. It was beyond clear that Howard Stark had not only contributed funds and tech, but had also had a hand in shaping the ideals of the entire operation.

Suddenly, Hydra letting their heaviest fist come down to crush the Starks out of existence was no longer a mystery. Stane may have ordered the hit, but Hydra's willingness to send their greatest asset must mean they had their own interests to protect.

Howard hadn't been the only one involved that Tony was familiar with, either. There was also Aunt Peggy. Tony stared at her gorgeous, serious face in the portrait shot on the screen, pale skin against flawless curls and red lips, eyes dark and deep and full of secrets he'd never know. She looked exactly has he remembered her from his early childhood, and for the first time in many, many years he wondered what had happened to her when she had suddenly, quietly disappeared out of his life. Had James been sent after her, as well? Tony hoped not.

Tony was far from sure what to make of all this new information, but one thing he was certain of.

”I don't think SHIELD was all Hydra from the start.” They were seated in the penthouse they had made their own, watching the sunset through the wide panes of glass, when Tony brought it up.

”Why's that?” Rolling his head around where it was tipped back on the back of the couch, James watched him curiously.

”Because Hydra was one of the things they wanted to fight in the first place. This global security idea? Cropped up after World War II. Seems Hydra was a Nazi science division that sort of went off on its own tangent, and even the party leaders thought they were messed up, as far as I can tell, and if that isn't saying something, I don't know what. Even Captain America seems to have had his run-ins with them, but I couldn't find much on that. Either way, they go way back, and SHIELD wanted them stopped. I think that the people who founded it had good intentions. Somewhere along the line they trusted the wrong people, though, and it all went to shit.”

James nodded slowly, eyes far away on the dusky gold skyline now. He was quiet for a while, deep in thought, before he spoke up. ”Does that change the plan?”

Tony considered it. ”No”, he finally decided. ”If we'd gotten to them say, thirty or forty years ago? Yeah, possibly. As it is now, there is no way to separate out the good from the bad and keep anything of it. The rot goes to the bone. We'll have to burn it all down. If there's something to it, something real, then that'll grow back stronger once the fire has passed.”

”Agreed.” Face going darker, James leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and fixed his sharp gaze on Tony. ”It does change one thing though.”

”What?”

”The kind of resistance we'll meet when we fight them head on.”

Tony frowned. ”How do you mean?”

”Some of those who fight us will be Hydra”, his Mirror said, voice heavy. ”Those will fight us because we're on to them, because we're working against their goals, because we could expose them. But the rest of them? They'll fight us just as hard, because they believe they're on the side of good. That they're saving the world, and that we're the villains. And we'll have to take all of them down, because we can't tell which one is which. Are you prepared to do that?”

It was a long time before Tony could give an answer. ”I'll have to be. There's no other way, is there?”

”No.” James reached out to hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him into an embrace, both of them leaning heavily against each other. ”Not that I can think of.”

* * *

In the spring of 2012, SHIELD suddenly and unexpectedly stepped out of the shadows, and Tony was pretty sure that was not a good sign.

Alexander Pierce had moved up in the world, and was now Secretary of Defense, while Fury had taken over as Director. The resources and influence now available to SHIELD was a noticeble change, and it was a shock to Tony when he realized that they had managed to keep this hidden from his prying, because this had very obviously been in the works for a long time. 

There was no other way to explain how they at once could set up office in the newly finished Triskelion in Washington DC. 

Though they seemed to be using their new resources beyond the country's borders as well – mostly for some top secret expeditions around the Arctic, which seemed to have been pushed for recently, and which Tony couldn't make sense of – it was the activity in DC that worried him the most.

The Triskelion was huge, and thinking about what might be going on within the building, when he didn't have any way to know about it, was driving Tony absolutely up the wall.

”We have to go out there”, he growled, tugging at his hair while staring at the useless scraps that were the only kind of information he could dig up. The move and the new resources meant Tony was effectively locked out of any new information. He strongly suspected that their internal communications and databases were kept far, far off the grid and he had no way in anymore. ”I need to get a scan of the place. I need an uplink to their network. I can't do anything remotely as is.”

He felt more than heard James stand behind his right shoulder. For a moment he expected an objection, but when his Mirror softly spoke up, all he said was ”What do you need me to do?”

Tony turned in his chair, and curled his hand into the front of James's t-shirt. ”Get my tech in there. Preferably connected to a computer – any computer. But if that's not possible, just getting it inside their building would be a huge help.”

James nodded. ”Then let's get it done.”

At first, it seemed almost as easy to do it as to say it. Wich should have been a sign that things were about to go spectacularly wrong.

They reached DC without any issue, and Tony left the quinjet to hover neatly far above the city while he got into the suit. He grabbed James right after they had snapped their helmets on, and jumped. He flew them both down to the blue ribbon of the Potomac, and the pillar-like structure of the Triskelion. Tony glanced at the part of the feed on his HUD that showed him a view of James's face from inside the helmet, finding his set jaw and eyes intensely focused.

”I'm dropping you on the roof, circling for a scan, and then picking you back up as soon as you give me the word”, Tony said, repeating their plan.

”Roger that.”

Tony hesitated. ”Be careful, okay?”

He saw James's mouth tick up in a brief smirk. ”I'd say the same, but you won't.”

Chuckling, Tony didn't answer. He just pulled out of their dive about a hundred feet above the roof of the building, and let James go. Watching him fall, land in a perfectly controlled roll up on his feet, sprinting across the open expanse of the roof and disappearing out of sight in seconds. Not waiting around any longer, Tony took off in a wide sweep around the building, scanning it and the closest surroundings with very kind of sensor he had. Both because he sorely needed those readings, and because he knew he would draw most of the attention, buying James more time to get him into the system.

Unsurprisingly, it was only 39 seconds until the first shot was fired. But it had no chance of knocking Iron Man out of the sky. He just rolled out of the way of the bullet's trajectory, and kept circling.

”They're starting to get pissy”, he noted conversationally into the comms after the third barrage of bullets. ”How's tricks on your end?”

”Knocked out two guards, took out four cameras, and found you a terminal. Good enough?”

Tony took his eyes off the scans to look at James's view. It looked like he'd found a security guard's bank of surveillance screens. ”Darlin', that is the best thing I have seen in weeks”, he grinned, teasingly adapting some of James's drawl. ”Get the device into a USB port. Even if they find it after you're gone, it'll be too late.”

A few moments of silence followed, then James grunted, the noise satisfied rather than strained. ”Done.”

Confirming his words, a smaller display below James's camera feed started rushing through lines of code as his software trickled into SHIELD's network and slipped into the cracks. ”We're in. Now get your fine ass out.”

”Yeah, on it, I'll -” There was a shout, and a crash, suddenly cutting James off. ”Shit”, Tony heard him hiss. ”Gonna need that pick-up”, he said over the sounds of moving, camera showing him wrenching a rifle out of one agent's hands, then kicking the man into another one, crowding in behind the first. ”They're swarming me.”

”Ready when you are”, Tony swore, completing his final scanning lap as he kept an eye on James fighting his way out, heading back to the roof.

They had done similar things before, but watching James in action just never got old. He had a cold economy of motion that Tony was fairly certain was an integrated leftover from his time as the Winter Soldier, but he wasn't the ruthless killing machine he had been back then. He preferred to incapacitate over flat out killing – they both did, knowing that whoever they were up against might not be Hydra – but he was still deadly, fluidly efficient grace as he went through the agents coming at him.

Within minutes, James was rushing up a clanking metal staircase, heading for the roof. He was only breathing slightly heavier than usual, as he made a minute pause to lean over the railing, catching a glimpse of someone in a mask and suit that almost matched the blue of James own jacket coming up after him.

”Got a tail”, James said as he shot up the next flight of steps. ”Roof in ten.”

”Check.” Tony put a bit more force into the thrusters, and was just about to touch down on the roof when he saw James burst out of the door on the other side of it.

Whoever was following him was one fast son of a bitch though, because the door had barely fallen shut behind James before it slammed open again, and the man in head-to-toe blue was hot on his heels. There were lines of silvery white slashing across his wide shoulders, a star at the center of his chest, and he was holding something that made Tony bark out a surprised curse. He didn't have time to say anything, or even yell a warning, before the red, white and blue shield was flying, and hit the unsuspecting James square in the back of his head.

”Fuck!” Tony shot forward as he saw James go down. ”James!”

There was no reply, but he understood why when his Mirror effortlessly rolled up on his feet and in the same movement tore the broken remains of his helmet off. It was spitting sparks as he threw it aside, and turned to face his attacker. Relieved, Tony landed heavily behind his shoulder, hands up and repulsors aimed at the man busy catching what had to be, and couldn't possibly be, Captain America's shield.

Tony hadn't expected the man to stop, not after landing a hit like that, but he did. He came to an almost stumbling halt, staring at them from behind his mask. His eyes were shadowed, but Tony could see a strong jaw drop, lips parting in what seemed like shock.

_”Bucky?!”_ The man's voice was all breathless confusion.

Tony sensed as well as saw out of the corner of his camera angle as James turned stiff all over, hair tangled and whipping in the wind, as he stared back at the man in the middle of the roof.

”Who the hell is Bucky?”, Tony heard himself say, speaker-distorted voice faraway in his own ears, because in the back of his head he realized in a jarring rush that he already knew.

”No-one”, James barked, spinning around and slamming into him, metal arm wrapping around the suit's neck, the palm of it slapping hard against the armoured shoulder, the clang of metal-on-metal snapping Tony to attention. ”Get us out!”

Without hesitation, Tony engaged the boot thrusters and shot them into the sky. But he couldn't help but watch as the man on the roof let his shield-arm drop to his side, the position of his feet going wider as his head tipped back, eyes following their ascent, until he was swallowed up by mist and distance.

”Fuck me”, Tony grated out inside the echoing quiet of his helmet, where James could no longer hear him, his side of the comms lost. ”Fuck everything.”

* * *

The blessedly brief flight back to New Jersey was mostly a tense quiet, except for when James sighed and muttered ”We left my helmet”.

”I took care of it”, Tony said, voice flat, never taking his eyes off the controls. ”Had a self-destruct I triggered when we took off in the jet. It's nothing but slag now.”

There was no answer but another sigh, and silence settled again. But once they were safely back in their underground base, Tony spun on his heel and was up in James's face before he could even consider doing this in a calm, constructive way.

”How could you not fucking tell me?!”

His Mirror's face was grim, weary, and his mouth a down-turned frown. Wordless.

Growling, Tony gave him a stiff-armed shove to the center of his chest. James just stepped back with the movement. And again, when Tony repeated it, harder, and again, until his back hit a concrete wall. There, staring up at his face, Tony saw the flicker of bone-deep hurt behind the facade, and felt himself deflate, slumping against James's front, forehead on his shoulder. 

”How did I not fucking figure it out myself?” His words were muffled into the thick, blue jacket James was still wearing, and he pinched his eyes shut as all the little things, the little details, the tiny clues, flashed across his inner vision. Perfect recall was useful, but also a pain in the ass. Right now, his own brain felt almost _smug_ as it slotted all the pieces together, all the little lies, the omissions, the times James had reacted oddly and to what, Tony's own suspicious, Captain America showing up like a ghost out of nowhere, and Bucky... Of course Tony knew the name! The answer had been there all along. He just hadn't seen it.

After a while, when his sobbing, panting breaths had calmed a little, he felt James raise his arms and gently hold him, his head dropping and turning until his Mirror was kissing his timple. 

”I didn't think it would matter”, he said, voice gravelly and tired. ”Steve was dead anyway, no-one who had known who I used to be was left in the world, so it didn't matter. And I wasn't really Bucky anymore. I was your James. And that was enough. More than. And you had him all over your _wall_ , Tony.” A rasp that might have been a laugh shivered through him. ”I was the closest thing left of your hero and I'd just disappoint you. So I didn't tell you because it didn't matter.”

”Steve”, Tony repeated, the way James had said it grating at him. ”Yeah, he was my hero. But he was your friend, right?” He pushed back a little, glaring up at James. ”Really close friend?”

”Tony, don't -”

”Yeah I think I will!” He felt his index finger dig into James's chest. ”Because that was really _him_ , wasn't it? Not some double with a shield? Gone for seventy years and the fucking _second_ he sees your face, he knows you? Yeah, that had to be him. And I know you want to go back there and find him? Right?” 

Tony knew he was losing it, all grip on sense and reason slipping through his fingers, where they were now cramped up into a fist in James's jacket front. But it was too much at once. 

James still seemed way too calm when he looked down into Tony's twisted up, angry face. ”Tony, listen -”

Tony growled and tugged on his jacket, about to open his mouth to say... _something_ – something he'd probably regret – when James clamped his right hand down over the entire lower part of his face, spun them around, and pinned Tony to the wall instead. Not with his full force, but more than enough to knock some air out of Tony's lungs, and keep him immobile.

”I said, _listen_!” There was no talking back to that tone, even if Tony hadn't been silenced by the warm, strong palm over his mouth, the thumb hooked under his jaw and keeping it forcibly closed. ”My name”, he started, slowly and deliberately, ”is James Buchanan Barnes. I grew up in Brooklyn, and sometime during the Great Depression – and don't ask me the year 'cause I can't tell you – I met a stubborn, impossible kid who had no idea how to run away from a fight. Real punk. Just like you. And yeah, him and me got close, got to be the oldest ones around without a Mirror, and we'd both been knocked around more than enough to know that we two? Yeah, we weren't it.” His words were rolling out easier, the twang of his accent shining through just a bit more than usual. ”But I loved that kid. I did. Because he was like a fuckin' ray of sunlight. And when everything turned to war and shit I still followed him, right into Hydra's claws. And I already told you – I'm not sorry. I'd get on that train again.” James's eyes turned thunderously dark. ”But not for him. I would do anything for him. But you're the only one who's worth doin' anything for _twice_.”

They stared at each other for a stretched-out moment of forever, both breathing harder than they should. Then Tony surged up on his toes, James let his hand drop away, and their mouths were feverishly and artlessly slammed together. Tony thought he tasted blood and didn't care, his hand tugging at the zippers and closures of the blue jacket in front of him.

James got with the program at once, shrugging out of his jacket, tearing off his undershirt, doing the same for Tony, and then he pressed in close again, lips slotting over Tony's, hard hands at his hips, and before Tony knew it he was hoisted up, held firmly with his back against the wall and a metal hand under his ass. He immediately hooked his feet together behind James's back, clinging to his hips, taking advantage of the way he was suddenly the slightly taller one by urging James's head back, tugging on his hair, licking into his mouth. Greedily swallowing up the heated noises his Mirror made as James's right hand fumbled between their bodies, tearing buttons and pulling at zippers, until he could align their bodies _just so_ , and wrap his hand around both their cocks at once. 

At the first downstroke they had to rip their mouths apart to gasp for air.

All Tony could see was _James_. Red, abused lips, and the way his gray eyes were dark with focus, and saw nothing in the world but Tony, in turn.

He couldn't know later what made that the moment. The right spark in space and time. Tony couldn't have been able to say. Part of it was jealousy, he'd have to admit that, and not a small part was possessiveness. But perhaps most of it was the sense of walls torn down. That for the first time in close to three decades, he could look into his Mirror's eyes and _know_ him. The truth at the core of him.

The Winter Soldier turned James turned Bucky turned James Buchanan Barnes was still James, James, James and all _his_.

Tony slipped his hand up the nape of James's sweaty neck, tangled his fingers into his hair, deep by his scalp, and tugged his head to the side. Their eyes were locked, the intensity of the gaze sucking up the last bit of air between them, and he could see that James knew what was coming, before Tony even tipped his head forward.

Moaning, the noise turning to a guttural growl as James made another stroke with his hand, squeezing the heads of their cocks together almost harshly, Tony pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the thick muscle at the juncture of James's neck and shoulder, right where it attached by his left clavicle. Kitten-licked it. Teased.

”Tony...” His name was a whimpered prayer on his Mirror's lips. ”Do it. Do it! Please!”

The breath Tony sucked down was like the last before diving under water, unsure if you'll ever reach the surface again. And then he opened his mouth wide, pressed his teeth into James, and _bit down_ , as hard as physically possible. 

James's pained and ecstatic keening hit him at the same time that the hot, searing, bone-crushing pain slashed into his own right shoulder, blood tickling over his skin as the exact match of his bite was cut open in a perfect reflection. It was terrible and wonderful and he bit _harder_ , felt a runnel of blood slip down his own chest, and then let go. Let the back of his head thump against the wall as he tossed it back, James's hand working them over frantically for another unreal couple of seconds, and then they came. In the same instant. James shoved him harder into the wall when his legs trembled and almost folded. But then he gripped Tony tight and shuffled away from the wall, to the little corner of the room where they had made a makeshift home for themselves on the base, and sat down on their worn couch. He tipped over on his back and dragged Tony with him, let him stretch out on top of his body. 

And they both heaved with panting breaths, shivering and bleeding. Both of them entangled, and one and the same.

* * *

Slowly combing his fingers through Tony's hair, where his mate's head was reasting heavily relaxed against his chest, James watched in avid, satisfied fascination as the Mark on Tony's shoulder was closing up. Blood clotting and drying on his skin, bite healing into a livid, red scar that would never fade. He knew his own Mark was doing the same, could feel the itch of the rapid healing at work.

Even Mirror Marks on normal humans always healed quickly and well, though. Bites could be nasty things, James knew, but Marks were different. They never got infected, just healed into sharp, clearly visible scars.

He felt Tony sigh against his skin, shifting minutely to press even closer where he was half draped over James's front already.

”Would you have preferred if it was him?” Tony's murmur was half muffled.

James knew what the question meant, but Tony was still limp and relaxed, and the agitated pain was gone from his voice. He seemed to genuinely want to know. So James remained just as calm, heavy and sweet, and just buried his fingers deeper into Tony's hair, tugging gently at the still sweat-damp curls, because he knew Tony enjoyed the sensation.

”Back then, there was nothing that would have made me happier than having Steve as my Mirror”, he said, honesty tasting almost strange on his tongue after so many years of swallowing it back down. ”But that was thirty years before you were even born, Tony.”

Tony let out a giggle that sounded slightly unhinged, shaking his head against James's chest. ”God, it's insane. I mean I had already figured you had to be older than you looked. Even before I noticed how we don't seem to age. But still, that's freaking me out a little.”

James smiled at the gray ceiling of the basement. ”Yeah.” He sighed. ”There is no comparison, though. I loved him. He was all I had, for years. But I was another person then, and so was he. You're a part of me, Tony. There is no way to prefer anyone over you, because you're my other half.”

Turning his head enough to press a kiss into his pectoral, Tony made a satisfied little noise. Apparently much more willing to accept the truth of James's words now than he would have been before the Marks.

”You were right, though”, James murmured. ”I do want to go back and find him. Not for the reason you implied but... Yeah, I want him away from those people. Captain America can't fight for Hydra, Tony. That's not right. And I have to assume it's because he has no idea that's what he's doin'.”

There was a long silence. Then Tony pushed away until he was sitting, small and curled up, wedged between James's leg and the back of the couch.

”I think it's because of my dad that they even have him”, Tony started, slow and soft, like he was afraid James would lash out at him. ”He supplied SHIELD with a lot of funds and tech and I know that he organized searches for Cap, back when I was a kid. They must have fished him out of the ocean, using what Howard left them.”

James nodded. That sounded likely.

”And I think I know how they got him to agree to work for them”, Tony continued.

”Yeah?”

”Peggy Carter”, was Tony's short answer, followed by a shrug when he saw James's eyebrows fly up. ”She was a major part of founding SHIELD. Pretty sure a lot of her motivations had to do with Steve in the first place, actually. She was definitely part of planning Howard's searches. All they'd have had to do is mention to Steve she would have wanted him as a part of the organization.”

”And he would have been all over it”, James agreed, eyes drifting into the middle distance, thinking. ”Is she still part of it?” He frowned. ”Is she even still alive?”

The silence he was met with made James shift his gaze over, fixing on Tony's face. His Mirror's head was tipped down, eyes on his fingers as they toyed restlessly with a strap on James's pants.

”I don't know”, Tony finally murmured, not looking up. ”I've looked for her, but I've got nothing. And I wish I knew. She was around a lot when I was a kid, basically felt like family, but then when I was ten, she just... vanished. Never saw her again, never heard from her, no-one mentioned her around the house ever again.” He shrugged, jaw ticking faintly. ”She was a big part of why Cap was my hero. I mean, dad never shut up about the guy but... Even I could tell he was more obsessed than anything else. It was more about the science and the achievement. _His_ achievement. It wasn't about Captain America. And definitely not about Steve Rogers. He was barely more than a note in the margins.” He dared a brief glance at James, staightening up his hunched shoulders a little when he saw no anger. ”Aunt Peggy, though? She told me about Captain America, the hero. And about Steve Rogers, the person. The little guy with the huge heart, who ended up getting a body to match.” Tony smiled, crooked and weak, but a smile. ”That's why I thought he'd have cared about me, too. And why I put him all over my wall. 'Cause I was a little guy, with a body that wasn't... right. But I figured he wouldn't mind. He'd watch over me anyway.”

Smiling softly, James settled his metal hand over Tony's fingers, stilled their movements and squeezed them gently. ”He would have, Tony. No doubt about it. And he will. Once we get him out of that mess, he'll fucking love you.”

Tony's smile got a bit steadier at that, even though the look in his brown eyes was almost shy. ”You think?”

”I know.” His face split into a grin. ”You're both reckless punks. You'll get along great, and probably drive me insane.”

And it felt like a victory that that made Tony crack up laughing.

”Okay”, Tony said when he could speak again, turning his hand around so he could wrap their fingers together. ”Let's get him out.”

* * *

The next time they ran into Steve Rogers, it wasn't in the field, but instead at a high-profile charity event in Manhattan. Tony was there thanks to his work with prosthetics for veterans, and they had certainly not dressed for the night with plans of getting into a fight.

Steve wasn't in his uniform this time, no shield in sight, so no-one in the crowd even knew him, except for James and Tony. He was wearing a black suit that made him blend in enough to not draw eyes, but holding himself with a military stiffness and a watchful enough eye that made him look more like a bodyguard than a guest. And who knows, maybe he was?

James snatched Tony around the waist, moving them behind a marble pillar in the ballroom before those sharp, blue eyes could catch them.

”He's here”, he murmured into Tony's ear, under disguise of leaning in unnecessarily close to fix his collar and bow tie. The way his Mirror tensed just a hint said Tony knew who he meant. ”Looks like he's playing bodyguard for that senator. What's-his-face? Stern?”

Tony shuddered. ”That toad? Jesus, we better get Steve away before the slime rubs off on him.”

”How?”

Straightening up, Tony ran a hand over James's chest, as if tidying up his shirt, but he felt Tony slip something into his breast pocket. ”Get him away. Get him alone. Maybe he'll just... listen to you?”

James made a skeptical noise.

”It's worth a shot. We don't actually want to fight him. You think you can lure him as far as the garage?”

After a brief moment of consideration, James nodded. He was fairly sure that if Steve caught so much as a glimpse of him, he would go to pretty great lengths not to lose the trail again. The garage was two floors down, but it shouldn't be impossible to reach. He didn't waste time asking what Tony's plan was once they got there.

”Good”, Tony said, smiling bright and easy, and then affectionately petted his chest, right over something small and hard now hidden in his pocket. ”Get those in your ears before you do. They're a comm unit, and, well, a back-up plan. In case things go to shit.”

James nodded again, leaned forward to press a parting kiss to Tony's cheekbone, and then slipped around the pillar, blending with the crowd, and instantly spotting Steve across the room. His height and blond hair made him stand out like a beacon, and even from a distance James could se his eyes scanning the room, jaw tight and set, wide shoulders too stiff under the suit jacket.

The moment Steve spotted and recognized him was obvious to James, but probably wouldn't be to anyone who might be watching. Every single miniscule movement in Steve's body froze, his eyes widened a hint, and the sweeping focus that had seemed to take in the whole room just a second ago, had suddenly narrowed to James's face. It felt like his forehead might burst in to flame from the intensity.

He held Steve's eyes for long enough that it was obvious he knew he'd been seen. Then he turned on his heel, and moved for an exit. Not in a rush, but with purpose. James didn't bother to look back, he knew Steve would be following, so he just slipped out the door, tugging out the things Tony had put in his pocket as soon as he was out of sight. They looked like flesh-coloured little ear plugs, so he just pushed them into his ears as he moved to jog down the stairs that were mainly meant as a fire escape, but worked fine for his purposes.

As soon as he put the things in his ear, there was a faint tone in his right one, and then Tony's voice was a soft whisper right there, as if he'd been standing behind James's shoulder.

”You got him. He's on your tail.”

Right then, there was the noise of the door opening on the floor above, and light, quick steps hurring after him down the stairs.

”There he goes”, Tony said, sounding pleased. ”I'm taking the other way around. Meet you down there.”

James only got another half-flight of stairs down after that, before he heard a huff, a shuffle, and caught a glimpse of movement above that made him slide to an abrupt halt. Only just saving himself from having Steve land right on his head. He was still half a floor away from the garage level, but they were away from the crowd, so it would have to be good enough. Tony could find them if he wanted to. So James shoved all that aside, and focused on the fact that he was standing eye to eye with Steve Rogers, for the first time in almost seventy years. 

For a brief moment he let himself be amazed. Blown away by the fact that they were both here, still so much the same, except for all they ways they were profoundly different.

”Bucky.” It wasn't a question this time. Steve knew who he was. There was some of the same awe James felt, though, and confusion mixed with hope. ”Do you know who I am?” The question wavered, just slightly.

”You're Steve.” It was both an answer, and something James had to tell himself, convincing himself that this was real.

The smile lighting up Steve's face was almost enough to make James fold to his knees and cry. But he made himself stand still, and wait, quietly.

And then the smile slid off Steve's lips and he frowned. ”Why are you doing this?” His weight shifted subtly forward, and James took a half-step back before he could even move for real. ”They told me you and Iron Man have been going after SHIELD for years. Why would you do that? They're trying to help, Buck.”

Instead of answering any of that, James replied with a question of his own, a thought that suddenly hit him, and he had no idea how he hadn't considered it before. ”Did you tell them who I am?” Chances were pretty good someone had already guessed who he was, but if Steve had confirmed their suspicions, it would still make things worse.

There was a hesitant pause before Steve answered, and that in itself told James plenty. He had been worried that they wouldn't be able to make Steve come around, listen to them, and believe the things they told him about SHIELD. But that pause made him think they wouldn't have as much trouble as he'd thought. Steve already had doubts, and that? That was good to know.

”No, I didn't.”

”Why not?”

Steve shifted on his feet, hands flexing by his sides. ”Because they don't seem to be planning on taking you alive.”

”That's smart”, James said softly, a chilly smile curling his lips. ”Good strategy. They clearly figured out that's the only way to stop me.”

”And why is that?” Steve stepped closer, and again James backed away. ”Why are you doing this? C'mon, Bucky, let me bring you in, explain it to me, and I'll protect you.”

”You don't know what you're promising, Steve.”

”So _tell me_ , Buck? Please?”

He saw Steve reach for him, not sure how he felt about that, or what he should do to stop it from happening, when an arm covered in matte-black metal suddenly wrapped around Steve's chest, tugging him back a few inches. Tony's other hand was raised, held just above Steve's shoulder, but before James could wonder what that meant, he realized that Tony was holding a little device, pressing his thumb against the end of it. Instantly there was a sharp, jarring note in his ears, annoyong and grating, but kept at a safe level thanks to the protection Tony had given him before.

Steve was not so lucky. He instantly went limp, knees giving out under him, slumping back against Tony's metal-covered chest, like a puppet with its strings cut. Where Tony held him steady, not letting him drop to the floor.

”Sorry about that, Cap”, came Tony's faintly distorted voice from the suit. ”I know that's unpleasant as shit. But I can't let you get up and personal with James. Not yet.”

As James watched, he saw Steve's head roll bonelessly to the side against Tony's shoulder, and he saw that even if his face was slack and unmoving, his eyes were flicking minutely to the side, taking in Tony's faceplate. He was obviously still conscious, but completely paralyzed.

Tony bent his knees a little, shifted Steve around in the movement, and when he smoothly stood back up straight he had Steve's considerable weight slung over his shoulder, like it was nothing. The blue glow of the suit's eyes turned on James. ”Let's move, before this wears off.”

With a quick nod, James got his legs working and followed Tony down into the garage, hurrying forward to slip the key out of his pocket, opening up the trunk. He stepped to the side, so Tony could carefully lay Steve down, before Tony moved away with the always so surprisingly silent and easy steps of the armour. James swallowed, and then moved back up to the trunk, where Steve looked oddly small, curled up in a fetal position in the cramped space. He leaned down, impulsively ran his right hand through Steve's hair, and saw his eyes struggle to roll around, get a glimpse of his face.

”I swear, this isn't as bad as it seems, okay? You're safe.”

Even with Steve's slack features he could see the mistrust clearly in those blue eyes. With a sigh, James straightened up and closed the trunk as gently as possible.

When he heard the soft, smooth slide of machinery, he looked up to see Tony stand off to the side, the innocuous briefcase of his folded up suit in hand, before he moved to shove it into the backseat of the car, door already opened. Then he made a gesture for James to follow, and turned to slip into the passenger sear, leaving the wheel for James.

They were in a hurry, they both knew it, but once they were in their seats they just sat there, staring at each other for a moment.

”I can't help but notice”, Tony said slowly, ”that we have just kidnapped Captain America.”

”Well, you're not wrong.”

They stared another moment, and then had to stifle slightly hysterical laughter, Tony smothering another round of those unhinged giggles behind the palm of his hand. He was still wiping away tears from his cheeks when James started up the car to drive them home.

When they arrived, Tony ordered him to drive the car into a specific, bare corner of the workshop/garage under the Tower. They quickly left the car, bringing the suitcase with them, and left it, followed by the sound of weak banging from inside the trunk. Apparently, the pralysis was already wearing off.

Once they were across a faint line in the floor that James had never noticed before, Tony headed for the wall and slapped his hand on a button, which made a wall that looked made of glass slide down between them and the car. Turning the corner into a sealed off little room.

”I built that as a sort of panic room down here”, Tony explained when he saw James stare at him. ”It was meant to keep things out, not in, but that wall can still stop missiles. It should hold him at least a while.

With that said, he picked the armour back up and started to walk out of the 'shop.

”Wait!” James hurried after him, stopping him by wrapping both arms tightly around his chest, pressing his face into the side of Tony's neck. ”You're not staying?”

After a brief stillness, Tony leaned his head against James's. ”I think it's better if you talk to him. He'll listen to you.” His cheek rubbed a little against James's hair, like an affectionate cat. ”And besides, I think you two have earned some alone time.” He pulled free, but gently, and turned enough to give James a smile over his shoulder. ”I'll be in the penthouse when you need me.”

And then he was gone, before James could think of anything else to say.

Only moments later a sharp _bang!_ and the tortured screech of breaking metal told him that Steve had gotten out of the trunk, giving James something else to think about.

When he came to stand in front of the glass wall he knew wasn't glass at all, Steve had already climbed out of the trunk, and seemed mostly steady on his feet. He didn't look happy to find himself still locked up, once he was free of the car.

”This is crazy, Bucky.” With a disapproving frown settling on his face, Steve placed his hands on his hips, eyes locked with James's. ”Let me out.”

”I will. But hear me out first, all right?” He walked all the way up to the glass, tugging off his imitation skin glove as he went, so that he could put his metal palm agains the wall when he reached it. ”It's kind of a long story, but bear with me.”

Steve stared in silence at his hand, as the delicately shaped fingers moved against the glass, and then nodded slowly.

So James told him, all of it. Or as much as he could. Large parts of his memory of that first time after the fall were a mess, but there was enough to give a clear picture. He kept the details of the following four decades as vague as possible while still explaining what had happened, but the heartbroken look on Steve's face told him it was still more than enough.

Then he reached the part of the story where he had been sent to kill the Starks, and Steve moved for the first time. He stepped closer to the glass while shaking his head.

”But that can't be right”, he said. ”They told me Howard's kid is still alive. Said he might be at that event tonight. I'd kinda hoped to spot him, actually, but then you were there...” He shrugged. ”So, what, he wasn't in the car?”

”Yeah, he was in the car”, James said, and he heard how rough his voice was at the old hurt of the memory. ”Skinny kid, not even fifteen, and I still would have snapped his neck like he was an unwanted kitten.” His mouth twisted. ”But then I touched his face, and everything Hydra had done to my head just... lost its hold.”

Steve's eyes flicked to his metal hand again, and then back to his face, growing wider by the second. ”He's your Mirror.” Then his jaw dropped. ”Tony Stark is Iron Man.” It wasn't even a question.

This was where things were becoming dangerous, but James still had to believe that Steve would come around, that he would believe _them_.

”He is.” James felt his jaw clench. ”But Steve, listen, whatever they told you about him, about us, it ain't true. They're feeding you lies down in DC, and I can't let it go on.”

Bright blue eyes narrowed again. ”What do you mean?”

”SHIELD isn't what you think it is. Hydra got to them, ages ago. Burrowed into their ranks like a parasite, and got all the way to the head of the organization. SHIELD is Hydra, now, in all the things that matter.”

Steve stared, blinked, and then backed up an unsteady step so that he could sit down heavily on the edge of the open trunk of the car behind him. He looked gutted, absolutely devastated, but at the same time...

”You're not surprised, are you?” James frowned at the look on Steve's face, tipping his head forward to rest against the glass between them. ”Not really?”

”No”, Steve choked out, rubbing a palm across his mouth, now staring into nothing instead of at James. ”No, I... I think someone was already trying to tell me something wasn't right. But I'd never have guessed that...” He swallowed. ”It all fits, though. Christ, Bucky... it fits.” There his eyes snapped back to James's. ”We need to stop them.” Steve shot to his feet and was right by the glass with one long step. ”I think they're about to do something horrible.”

”Yeah, that sounds about right.” James felt his mouth stretch into a grim smile, terror mingling with satisfaction in his heart. ”Welcome to the future, Steve.”

* * *

Curled up on the couch in the penthouse, Tony silently watched on a floating surveillance screen as James let Steve out from his makeshift cell, and the two of them drifted closer, faintly awkward shuffling turning into the two of them wrapping each other up in a long, tight hug. He knew he wasn't supposed to be watching their private moments, but he had never been great at telling when he had reached the line when it came to collecting information. At least he didn't feel as bad about what he saw as he had almost expected.

Maybe a part of him would always wonder if James would rather be with Steve, but the Marking had settled a lot of his worries. He wasn't even sure anymore why he'd put it off for so long. 

All the reasons for holding off on the Marking now sounded hollow, even to his own ears. He was happy that he'd finally seen reason – even if it had taken Captain America returning from the dead to do the trick.

Before, his own bone-deep loyalty for James had never been in question, but he'd always had a flicker of doubt in his heart about James's loyalty to him. The Mark had burned that out of him. He could feel the sentiment echoed back between them now, in a way he hadn't before, and even while he could see the obvious joy and affection on James's face when Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they left the workshop, Tony knew it wasn't the same as what James felt for him. He could trust in that knowledge now, and it was such a relief it made him giddy and dizzy.

Tony waved the screen away when he heard the elevator doors slide open, spilling James and Steve into the penthouse, their arms still around each other. James quickly scanned the room and almost instantly spotted Tony on the couch, his face splitting into a wide, happy smile as he waved Tony over.

”I wanna introduce you two, properly”, James said as Tony rolled off the seat and walked up to where they had stopped in the middle of the room. When he got close enough, James reached out with his metal hand, curling the hard but still gentle fingers around Tony's armless right shoulder, offering him a softer smile along with the touch. Then he turned that smile on Steve, right arm still around his back. ”Steve, this is Tony Stark, my Mirror. And the best thing to ever happen to me.”

For the first few moments after Tony reached them, Steve's sharp, blue eyes had flitted between James's metal hand and the missing arm along Tony's side. But now that clear, earnest gaze was firmly on Tony's face, and suddenly he felt like he was a little boy again, wrapped up in his covers and looking up at the old posters of Captain America above his bed. The serious look and the firm jaw were the same, and he was still looking up, damnit, and for a second Tony felt a flare of what could have been resentment. But then Steve smiled at him, and it instantly transformed him from a soldier snapped to attention, into a warm, appreciative friend.

Steve took his left arm from James's shoulders and shifted a bit on his feet so he could reach out with that for a handshake, instead of his right. When Tony accepted it, Steve's hand was firm and steady.

”It's good to finally meet you, Tony”, he said, and there was no denying that he sounded completely honest, like he'd actually been looking forward to meeting Tony, of all people. ”I'm Steve -”

”Rogers”, Tony filled in, voice a hint rough. He cleared his throat. ”Yeah, I'm... familiar.” He made himself smile when Steve was starting to look uncertain. ”I sort of grew up with the stories about you. You were... um. There might have been posters?” This was a really good time to shut the hell up.

Or, apparently, a good time for James to turn a smirk Steve's way, stage whispering, ”Above his bed, no less.”

Taking his hand back from Steve, Tony swatted at James until his Mirror chuckled and wrapped Tony up in his arms, ignoring the hand tugging at his hair as he leaned in to smack a kiss on Tony's cheek.

”I was fourteen”, Tony grumbled, feeling his face grow too hot for comfort. ”It's allowed to be a fanboy when you're fourteen, I'll have you know!”

James finally let him go, still grinning, unrepentant.

”Fanboy, huh?” And that was Steve chipping in, looking much too amused.

Tony huffed, tried to neaten his clothes, and glared at them both in turn. ”And _I'm_ the punk?” He pointed accusingly between the two men. ”Jerks, both of you.”

To his surprise, that made Steve's face soften with affection as he turned to give James an almost shy smile.

James actually blushed, faintly but noticeably. ”Shut up”, he muttered, even though Steve hadn't said a word.

Tony had no idea what that was about, but decided that he didn't need to know. Some things could just be theirs. They had lost enough, after all.

* * *

After that, they drifted into seriousness. They did have things to talk about that weren't personal, after all.

”I've been going over some of the data from the Triskelion”, Tony said once they were all settled on the couch. ”But there is a lot of it and at this point, I have no idea what I'm even looking for. It's like searching for a needle in a haystack, only worse, because maybe I'm not looking for a needle at all, but a thread, or a hair, or...” He gave a weary shrug. ”You get the picture.”

Steve was leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, clasped hands by his chin as he nodded slowly. ”So if I could give you something specific to look for, that would help.”

”Cap”, Tony said with a wry smile, ”that would make my fucking year.”

A tiny smile quirked Steve's mouth up in turn. Then he got serious. Very serious. ”What I think you should look for, is something called Project Insight.”

Both Tony and James leaned in a little, listening intently.

”It's made up of three huge aircrafts – helicarriers, they're calling them – designed to never have to come down once they are in the air. They are _heavily_ armed, and at first I couldn't make sense of the technology, because it was both so new and so... familiar.” Steve swallowed. ”But when Bucky mentioned Hydra, well, it made an awful lot of sense. Because I've seen weapons like those before. The ones that Red Skull had made, powered by the Tesseract.”

Tony frowned. ”I know that word. Why do I know that word?”

”Probably because I went down into the ocean to save the world from it”, Steve said, sounding bitter. ”It's a cube, about this big.” His large hands measured it out with quick, precise gestures. ”Glowing blue. As for exactly what it actually is? I don't think anyone knows. But it's powerful beyond anything you can imagine, and now they're using it to power and arm these crafts of mass destruction and if those carriers go up?” His lips flattened into a tense line. ”They'll rule the world.”

James hummed thoughtfully by Tony's shoulder, where his chin was resting, his arms forming an almost protective circle around Tony's middle while Steve spoke. ”You've seen them”, he said. ”That's why you weren't surprised.”

Steve nodded. ”Director Fury showed me, and it had me on edge right from the start because...” He hesitated, like he wasn't sure himself of why, exactly. ”It was something about the way he presented it to me. Usually he's real patient with me, he knows I'm not, well, all here and now, yet. He doesn't mind explaining, and he always wants to hear my perspective on things. Says it teaches him a lot. But this?” Scowling at the floor, Steve shook his head. ”He just shoved it at me. Like he wanted to... provoke me. Or outright piss me off.”

”Make you question it”, James suggested.

”Yeah.” Steve looked up at them. ”I think he has suspicions about the project too, but if Hydra is operating behind his back? Well, then he's in as much danger as all of us. Maybe more.”

Tony turned his head to meet James's eyes, and then he looked at Steve again. ”You trust him?”

To Steve's credit, he took a moment to think about it. ”Yes, I trust him. Not to tell me the truth about everything, but I trust that he has the world's safety as a priority. Gunning down millions in the name of 'peace'? I can't believe that's something he would approve of.”

Again, Tony and James eyed each other, and Tony nodded. ”I'll keep it in mind, and see what I can find on this thing. If it matches up, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

”Sounds fair.”

It looked like Steve was about to say something else, but right then there was a sharp, rattling knock to the glass door from the penthouse to the wide balcony outside. The balcony you couldn't reach from any other level of the Tower.

”What the _fuck_?”, Tony blurted out as all three of them jumped in their seats, startled, and whipped around to stare at the person standing outside.

It was fully dark now, but in the lights from the penthouse Tony could make out reddish brown hair, swept back in a ponytail, curls tumbling over a shoulder. A distinctly female figure, clad all in black, from a curve-hugging turtleneck, to wide, draping pants. A pale face, painted red lips quirking into a smile.

”Oh my god”, Tony heard Steve breathe by his side, at the same time he himself choked out a ”Holy shit!”, and felt James go completely rigid against his back.

On the other side of the glass, Peggy Carter raised a dark eyebrow and gestured toward the door, like she was asking if anyone was going to bother opening the door for her, or if she'd have to kick it down. From what he remembered of her, Tony was damn sure she could. So he was the first person to react, shooting up off the couch and hurrying across the room to let her in.

She looked almost exactly the same as he remembered her from more than thirty years ago, but given his own significantly slowed ageing, he thought he could figure out why that was.

”Peggy”, Tony said as she shut the door behind herself and turned to smile at him. He heard how awestruck he sounded, and didn't much care.

”Tony.” There was obvious affection in her voice. ”You look good, darling.”

”So do you”, he murmured, staring, and then he couldn't stop himself from stepping forward and unceremoniously wrapping her up in a tight hug, as well as he could. Even though he could hear James make a noise of protest behind him. ”Jesus. How did you even get up here?” Tony still hadn't let go; she even smelled the same, and he found himself unwilling to back away.

With a soft laugh, she was the one to pull away, just enough to pat his cheek. ”The cargo lift goes straight from the garage to the roof.” Like that answered his question. Like how she got into the garage wasn't a mystery. Not to mention the fact that the roof was still four floors above the penthouse.

Tony decided not to get into that, but made a mental note to ask more later, so he could patch up that particular flaw in his security. Instead he curled his hand around her elbow and squeezed. ”I've missed you.”

Peggy's face softened with sadness. ”And I've missed you too.” She sighed. ”But I think you realize by now why I had to disappear.”

Tony nodded, because of course he did. He knew he and James would have to do the same, in not too many years.

”And I was starting to suspect SHIELD wasn't a safe place for me anymore”, she continued. ”When I heard what happend to Howard and Maria, I knew I'd been right. But you have done well, darling. So well.” Her red lips curled into a small but proud smile. And then her eyes turned to someone behind him. ”Both of you.”

Twisting around so he could look over his shoulder without quite letting go of Peggy, Tony saw that both James and Steve had come a lot closer. James was vaguely straining to move forward even more, but was held back by a large hand wrapped around his right elbow. They were both staring, wide-eyed, and Tony couldn't hold back a smirk.

”I don't think you have to wait for introductions”, Tony said to them, sweeping his hand between the three people out of time.

With a grunt, James forced his arm free of Steve's hold and stalked close enough to curl his metal arm around Tony's waist, tucking him up safe by his side. It couldn't be clearer that he didn't trust anyone turning up this conveniently on their literal doorstep, and Tony couldn't really blame him, so he let James work through his protective watchdog routine. That was just easier than trying to talk him out of it.

At least James didn't lash out. He just gave Peggy a measured, curt nod. ”Carter”, he greeted her, voice rough. 

”Barnes”, she returned, in a much lighter tone. ”I was happy to see that the rumours of your death were exaggerated.”

James made an doubtful noise by Tony's shoulder, but didn't say anything else.

Instead they both silently watched as Peggy's eyes finally drifted over to settle on Steve, who was moving closer now, too, as if drawn. 

”You...”, he started, voice hitching. ”You're my Mirror? But... When did...?”

Peggy's mouth ticked up in a faintly rueful smile. ”I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised you don't remember. It was right before you got on the Valkyrie, after all.” 

Steve blushed. ”Oh. No, I... I remember.” 

Her hands twisted together in front over her. ”To be fair, I wasn't sure myself that what I felt was a bond triggering. There was too much going on. I couldn't tell what was adrenaline, and what was _you_.”

That made Steve's blush deepen, but then he paled, rapidly. ”I missed our date.” He swallowed. ”I'm so sorry.”

”You did what you had to.” Then Peggy tilted her head to the side. ”So, are you wasting any more time waiting for the right partner, or...?”

With a startled-sounding huff of laughter, Steve shot forward and scooped her up in his arms, like she weighed nothing at all, tucking his face by her throat, while her arms went around him in turn.

Eyes stinging, Tony had to turn away, give them some semblance of privacy, and found James already looking at him, eyes as suspiciously glossy as Tony's felt. The metal hand by his ribs tightened, and Tony gave him a wobbly smile.

For as long as the two of them had been together, they had been fighting alone. Hidden, secret, and with barely anyone knowing who they were to each other, and who James was. Hell, Tony hadn't known!

Now, that would all change, and Tony had a sense of hope that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Once the four of them had settled down, back on the couch, that hope only grew.

So close to Steve's side that she was half on his lap, Peggy told them all about how she had started suspecting that Steve might be her Mirror after Project Rebirth. How the faster had set in so slowly that at first, she'd thought she was imagining things. How much more calm and settled she'd felt after Steve turned up in Italy.

But fate had been against them, and for one reason or another, their bond hadn't been triggered until they had shared a kiss – right before Steve had ended up in the ocean.

”When you were gone”, she said, voice strained and eyes on Steve's face, as if she couldn't get enough of looking at him, ”there was a long time when I thought you couldn't be my Mirror. Because if you had been, I would have died too. Instead, I stayed alive, and nothing has ever made me as bitter as that did.” Peggy gave a harsh chuckle. ”But I couldn't make sense of it, of the way I healed so quickly, of the way I just didn't age anymore... The only explanation that made sense was that it was you, after all.”

”You made Howard fund those expeditions to the Arctic, didn't you?” Tony couldn't keep the words back, once the idea hit him.

Peggy turned a smile on him. ”He didn't need a lot of persuasion to do it, but yes, I did... nudge him in the right direction. And as you have probably also figured out, I influenced SHIELD to keep searching. Especially after I had to officially disappear.”

That, of course, meant that she had to explain that she had been aware for a long time that Tony was Iron Man, and how she had recognized James for who he really was right from the start. She had also been keeping a close eye on SHIELD, growing increasingly worried, but not able to do much from the shadows.

She had started pulling on the few threads she still had, to let her have some influence over the crumbling remains of what was actually still the SHIELD she had helped create, and not the Hydra hybrid it had become. At that point, so many years later, all her doubts about Steve being her Mirror were gone, and she had put everything into making SHIELD find him – because if she was alive, he had to be as well.

”I was the one who recruited Nick to begin with”, she explained when the discussion turned to Director Fury – her most trusted accomplice in the compromised organization. ”He was my only real hope that something could be salvaged out of this mess, and whoever he trusted fully, I know could help. We sent Natasha to keep an eye on things at Stark Industries when Tony turned down his offer to join us”, she added, smiling when Tony made a snort. ”Yes, that did not go as planned, but we couldn't tell her all of the truth, so you have to forgive her for picking the approach she assumed would work best.

”And we sent Sharon to live next door to you”, she continued, smiling up at Steve, who frowned in confusion. ”The blonde nurse?”

Steve blinked. ”She's an agent?”

Peggy nodded. ”And my niece. I made sure she would go far within SHIELD, and it wasn't difficult, because she did an excellent job all on her own. But when you went to New York, I followed myself. And when you all disappeared from the gala, I knew the time was finally right.” She clutched one of his hands between both of her own, fingers looking deceptively delicate. ”I've waited so long.”

Steve looked like he wanted to blurt out more apologies, but then he bit his lip and just opted for tipping his head forward, resting it against hers.

For a moment they were all silent, probably contemplating Peggy Carter waiting for seventy years to have her Mirror back, violently losing him to oblivion right after triggering their bond in the first place. Left alone with nothing but pain and doubt. Tony knew that was what he was thinking about at least, and the admiration he had already had for her was growing rapidly. 

If he'd been in her place, he suspected he'd have gone batshit insane a long, _long_ time ago.

Judging by the way James was leaning into him, a hand clutching at the back of Tony's neck, he guessed his own Mirror was thinking about the very same thing. And needed to assure himself that Tony was still right there, within comfortable reach.

But then it was James who broke the silence, clearing his throat, making all of them straighten up and turn to look at him before he spoke up. ”So, what do we do now?”

Peggy gave him a brilliant smile. ”I thought none of you would ever ask.”

Of course, Peggy Carter had a plan.

”Steve has to go back to the gala, and then to DC, acting like nothing is amiss. We need him on the inside.”

All three men nodded. That made sense.

”This Project Insight needs to be stopped before it gets off the ground, and we can do it before the carriers are even ready to take to the air.” Peggy turned a sharp look on Tony. ”There is a target algorithm that is the base of the whole operation, and it will be programmed into satellites. Before those satellites are launched, the carriers are still formidable weapons all on their own, but not _nearly_ as devastating as they will be with the targeting in place.”

Tony frowned, thinking fast. ”I can probably find it from here. Maybe scramble it, too. But if the satellites are already programmed and ready to launch, we'll have to get more... hands on.”

James made a pleased rumble. ”I've always preferred the hands on approach.”

That made Steve smile at him. ”It's reassuring to know that the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

* * *

Half an hour later Tony and James were alone once more, turning from where the elevator had just whisked Steve and Peggy away. But not alone the same way they had been just a few hours ago.

”Well”, James drawled, as he stepped close to Tony, dragging him into a tight embrace, murmuring the rest of his words into his hair. ”That could have gone a lot worse, all things considered.”

With a chuckle, Tony wrapped his own arm around James's lower back, nodding against his shoulder. 

Then they stood there for a long time, holding on, breathing each other in.

”We can actually do this”, Tony finally said, tipping his head back to see James's face, gray eyes dark under his long lashes. ”Right?”

James's smile was wide and brilliant, and bloodthirsty and feral, and the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. ”You mean you ever doubted we could?”, he said, sweeping down to catch Tony's mouth in a heated, rough kiss, before murmuring into his lips: ”Punk.”


End file.
